A Gossamer Cage
by Spense
Summary: Reid learns that family is deeper than just blood.  But, as always, Reid has to learn it the hard way.
1. Prologue  Ghosts

A Gossamer Cage

By Spense

Okay, we're going to try this again, mainly because of all the private emails I've gotten. Thanks for all the love.

PROLOGUE - GHOSTS

"_I knew you'd be the one to find this. You must be frightened. I'm sorry."_

Read and reread, the letter from Jason Gideon on his precipitous exit from the BAU, addressed to one Dr. Spencer Reid, fell to the kitchen table. Soft and worn, the paper didn't crinkly, rather landed noiselessly on the table surface. The numb fingers that dropped it, followed to nervously tap unconsciously on the surface.

Reid gazed at it sightlessly. It had been 3 months now, since Gideon had left. No, walked away from everything. From the BAU. From his career. From him. That thought cut the most, although he tried to hide it. Left, just like his father, without so much as a by-your-leave.

The one time he had talked about it (to Prentiss of all people) she was gentle, and had made sense.

"_You only remember that your father left. But he gave you 10 years. Remember that.. . . And remember that out of all of us, Gideon wrote only to you."_

But Reid knew it wasn't enough. Prentiss wouldn't have put up with that from her mother, nor Morgan from his parents. So why should that be okay for him? But the team seemed to think that it was.

However, when his father had left, he had said it all in the doing. Reid had heard the words loud enough, the words that the team had never heard in all their lives. The 'you aren't good enough' from William Reid could have been screamed, they echoed so loudly in his head. "I'm out of ideas, Diana," His father had said. And Gideon clearly had been too. Although not spoken by Gideon, Reid had heard them clearly regardless. Between the lines of the letter and in the man's actions. Spencer heard them, and he worked with the smartest people on earth; no way they hadn't heard them either. And just like before, although unsaid, Spenser hadn't been good enough to stop the leaving. Not good enough to fill the void.

Though, this time Reid had been people-smart for a change. He hadn't said anything more to anybody about Gideon's leaving after his talk with Prentiss. Really, there wasn't anything more to say. Oh, he knew that they were watching, making sure he was okay. He wished that they would give him some credit. He wouldn't break. He was stronger than that. He'd lived through worse.

Only . . . prior to Gideon's leaving, he had made the mistake of seeing the BAU as the family he'd never had. Someplace to belong. To not be a freak. But he'd been wrong. First was Elle's departure.

He and Elle had gotten to be pretty close. The time on the train in Texas? They'd worked well together. He felt like she'd become his big sister. He was comfortable with her. Then she'd

shot that man in cold blood. No question. And then she'd left without saying anything to any of them except Hotch. That had hurt, although he'd hidden it. He'd thought they'd been friends. Pretty good friends actually.

But Jason Gideon. That one had been the worst betrayal in a long, long time. He'd thought he was immune after all these years of being used for knowledge but rejected as a person, but well, there it was. He hadn't been good enough for that man either.

Now Dave Rossi was here. At first, Reid had been excited. He could learn so much from him. And he could. The man was brilliant, and everything he'd seen and experienced? But he wasn't Gideon, and already he was shutting Reid down. Reid knew that reaction too. Most people thought he was oblivious to their reactions to his ramblings, but he knew. He'd seen it many times, and he was used to it. He knew how to hide the hurt. And it didn't hurt all that much anymore, really. Only, he wasn't used to seeing it at the BAU.

Sighing, Reid stood up, folding the soft paper carefully once again, and carrying it to the drawer where he kept his letters from his mother. There weren't many others besides those. Just one or two that mattered. People didn't tend to keep in contact with him long unless they wanted something.

He didn't know why he bothered to keep Gideon's letter. He knew it word for word. But it was something tangible to touch, to look at the handwriting, a link of sorts.

The BAU was beginning to seem like it wasn't any different from any of the other places he'd tried to fit in. And Spencer had to admit that this time the thought was heartbreaking. He had spent all of his life not 'fitting'. He'd really thought that the BAU was different, that they were a family of sorts, bonded by the horrible things that they saw on a daily basis, and their appreciation for each other. They took care of each other with apparently honest compassion. Only, now it appeared that they were just better actors that the rest of the world. Or that at least they did actually care enough to hide when they were irritated when he didn't get the social niceties of things, or his ramblings, or, well, just him.

The only difference was that he was useful, and for once was truly appreciated for that usefulness here. He just was tired of people looking for the 'off-switch' when his usefulness was done for the day. It was just turning out that it was less blatant at the BAU. After all they were profilers, so better at hiding their feelings than anybody else.

Spencer had never trusted easily. He knew people used him, and he was honestly happy to be of help. But he had really thought this team was different, that they were a family. Only, he was finally concluding that he'd clearly been mistaken. Jason Gideon had been mentor, friend, father. colleague. Apparently only the mentor and colleague part had been correct.

Spencer was tired. Tired of trying to fit in. Tried of pretending not to notices the looks, the rolled eyes, the irritation. Tired of trying to be something to others that he just couldn't manage. Tired of not liking himself. Tired of wanting more.

And the protective shell he'd perfected over the many years of being an outsider that had slowly begun to thin under Jason Gideon's influence and skillful guidance, hardened to full strength once again in less than a heartbeat.

NOTE: This begins immediately following the episode 'Elephant's Memory'.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Morgan demanded of Reid as they left the station for the airstrip. They were all glad to leave. The picture of Reid standing unarmed and unprotected in front of Owen Savage wasn't something that they would forget anytime soon.

Prentiss sat in the front seat of the SUV, shotgun to Morgan as driver, leaving Reid in the backseat as usual. Just like a little kid. Her solid disapproving presence was as tangible as Morgan's more vocal version. Everybody else had ridden in the other SUV, and Reid knew it was because they were so furious they were afraid of what they'd say to him, and Morgan and Prentiss had obviously drawn the short straws.

Reid's temper flared right back. "I was trying to save somebody everybody else seemed gung-ho to kill."

Morgan cut in as though he hadn't said a word. "Blocking the kill shot? Kid, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were suicidal."

"I'm not a kid, and I was the only one who was trying to save him!"

Prentiss turned in her seat, twisting to look at Reid. "Reid! You know better than that. He'd killed so many people, they were being cautious."

"Something you weren't. Geez kid, you didn't even have your vest on."

Reid's voice rose, cutting over the heated comments of the other. "Just because he wasn't a jock, or considered valuable by the town . . . "

"Is that was this was all about?" Morgan cut in, somewhat amazed at the depth that Reid had identified with Own Savage. "Kid, this wasn't you. Just because you were tied to a goal post . . ."

"Shut up, Morgan!" Reid yelled over the top of Morgan's voice, hurt to the quick at his betrayal.

Prentiss turned with wide eyes to stare at Morgan in shock as an uneasy silence descended. Morgan pulled up to the plane, quiet. He parked and turned back to Reid. "Kid, I'm sorry. I didn't mean too . . ."

"I'm not a kid, and just shut up." Reid said tightly again, fighting back tears. Some FBI agent he was. Trying not to cry. None of the others would break down. He pushed his way out of the car, fighting the door. "Just shut up." He headed for the plane, go-bag and messenger bag over his shoulder without a look back, ignoring all of the others.

The plane ride home was nearly silent. And it wasn't the quiet, job-well-done silence. It was the discord of irritation, and afraid to talk about it in case it all blows up. The scene of Reid standing in front of Owen Savage, blocking the kill shot, no vest, no weapon, was haunting each of the team members in living color and high definition. The what-ifs were unthinkable, but exploding in each of their minds. That fear translated to a simmering anger.

And in Reid's thoughts as well. He knew he'd been right. Owen Savage would have been killed. Yes, the kid was to blame, but what he'd lived with? The teasing, the ridicule? The video from the wrestling team hazing was burned into his brain like a document left too long on a computer screen. Then Morgan's betrayal. He shied away from that thought, and returned to his anger. That was safer. He was still livid.

The overall result was a team that wasn't a team, and instead tried to sleep.

At airstrip, the group quietly separated for their cars. Reid, striding towards his car, his long legs purposefully taking him apart from the others, surreptitiously brushed angry tears away once again. And again feeling like a failure. The conversation with Hotch was still brutally face forward in his mind.

"_I should fire you"_

But as always, things applied differently to Spencer. He was too valuable to fire. In some ways, he wished Hotch had just fired him. That way he wouldn't have feel like he was there at the BAU on sufferance. He was tired of being treated differently; being treated like he was different.

Even the angry tears marked him as different. He wished he could be tougher. Like Morgan. As he unlocked his car, he could see Derek laughing with Prentiss at something, just like his betrayal in the car on the way to the airstrip had never happened. Derek wouldn't be tearing up. Reid just sighed and got in his car. Life sucked. Just like always.

The next day wasn't much better. Reid was grateful it was Friday, because he didn't think he could take another day of this. He had been right. Owen Savage was alive because of him, but the attitude of the other team members showed that they didn't seem to agree. Spencer just didn't get it. Their job was about saving lives, and Owen Savage was alive. But the wrestling team that had tormented Owen wasn't alive now. And that was the rub. The popular, athletic kids were dead, and they were clearly so much more important.

Reid looked around the bullpen. Morgan and Prentiss were bent over the files on their desks, working hard. They ignored him as much as possible. There wasn't any joking, no levity. Not today. Rossi and Hotch were up in their offices. Hotch had had his say last night, and he was acting normally today. Rossi had nodded at them, chatting with Prentiss later, but Reid was clearly the invisible man.

He looked down at the files on his desk. They had grown again, where as Morgan's and Prentiss' had shrunk. Dumping more work on him again. The geek types were only important when there was work to be done. Owen was expendable, the wrestling team wasn't. Reid wasn't expendable because he was useful. His lips tightened, and he seethed in silence, bending over his files, letting his hair cover his face so his emotions wouldn't show. He was good at hiding. He just never thought he'd have to do so at the BAU.

Lunch time came, and Morgan headed out of a game of pickup basketball, bypassing Reid with a tension in his shoulders that told Spencer he was just holding onto his temper. He knew from experience that Morgan would stay away from him until he cooled down.

Prentiss and JJ headed out for lunch, ignoring him. The bullpen emptied out. Rossi disappeared somewhere, and finally it was only Hotch in his office and Reid in the bullpen. Reid decided to skip lunch. His stomach was still clenched, he was so frustrated, and he wasn't sure anything would stay down.

"Where is everybody?"

Garcia's voice startled him. She was looking around bemused.

"Ah, lunch," Spencer answered. The first words he'd spoken all day, but who was counting.

"Great." Garcia's brow furrowed. "Just my luck. Everybody's gone."

"I'm here," Reid answered tightly.

"So you are," the tech answered. "Though I understand that you did your best to not make it back on this one," she said conversationally.

That did it. Reid slammed his pencil down on his desk and exploded. "What do you want me to say, Garcia? That he was expendable? That he wasn't worth saving? Sorry," he said turning on her as she took a started step back. "I don't think that just because he wasn't an athlete, or popular, made him a sacrifice."

Garcia's eyes were wide. "Sweetie, I'm sorry. . ."

"REID!" Hotch's voice echoed in the empty room.

Spencer clamped his lips, shutting off the sound that wanted to continue and turned to look at his boss. Hotch was leaning over the railing of the catwalk looking stern. "That. Is. Enough."

Spencer glared back at Hotch, meeting him eye to eye, fire smoldering, and wanting to explode.

"We've discussed this," Hotch continued. Take the rest of the day. Use it to come to terms with this case. I expect you back here Monday morning, head on straight. Got it?"

Reid glared for a moment, then nodded shortly. He grabbed his bag, and slammed out of the BAU office, fury in every line of his body. He could hear Garcia in the background as he left.

"Sir, I'm sorry," she was saying, worry and fear in her voice. "Did I say something wrong?"

"It's not you, Garcia," he heard Hotch explaining as he dove into the elevator. They didn't understand. They just would never understand.

There were times when he just really, really hated life.

Owen Savage was in his room. He was side by side with Marshall, the kid from Chula Vista that had been executed right in front of him on the word of the teenage daughter of a mob killer, protected by Witness Protection. Both were staring at him. Reid sat up in bed and looked at them in horror.

"But, Owen, you're alive!"

"And you think you did me a favor by keeping me alive?" Owen growled, lifting his shot gun and pumping a shell into the chamber.

"I'm not alive," Marshall growled. "Fat lot of good you did me."

As both stepped forward, Tobias Hankel came out of the shadows, watching impassively as Owen took aim and fired.

Reid sat up with a gasp, breathing hard, looking around his empty bed room desperately. The room was empty, a soft glow from the nightlight, illuminating the room in a friendly light. Spencer wiped his sweaty hair off his forehead and dropped back onto his pillows. "Just a dream," he murmured. "It was just a dream."

As his breathing settled, he debated whether to get up or try to sleep some more. It was only 2am, and he was exhausted. After a moment of deliberation, he finally grabbed his ipod, and punched up a scientific podcast that he liked. Putting on his headphones, he lay back down, purposefully shutting his eyes. The voice might just keep the ghosts away for this night at least.


	2. Part 1 Solace section 1

A Gossamer Cage

By spense

Part 1 – Solace (1.1)

NOTE: This begins immediately following the prologue.

Reid hated mornings. Very late at night was great. Great late night TV, a nice quiet time to study, life was quiet. Early mornings were for the birds. That particular time of day was only tolerable if lots of coffee was available.

Realizing that his body was trying to wake up, he closed his eyes tighter and he snuggled deeper into the warmth of his covers. Curled on his side, he clenched his pillow tighter. It was Saturday morning, freezing cold out, and after the last week and his nightmare during the night, he wanted nothing to do with this morning.

Slowly, a sense of 'wrongness' penetrated. The more wrong things felt, the more still he became. The sounds around him were different. Rather than the traffic of the street below, he could hear wind and what sounded like a muffled roaring. A clearer rumbling was more audible. Forcing himself to breath slowly and regularly, he extended his senses. Wherever he was, he wasn't at home. The bed was comfortable, but it wasn't his. The air smelled different. The smell of high end, fresh coffee permeated the air. He perked up in spite of his adrenaline which was beginning to pump.

There was no sense of people, or of danger, just . . . different. Taking stock of himself, he noted that he wasn't hurt, but he felt heavy, drained. Like the after effect of a sedative of some kind. Great.

Finally, he cracked his eyelids, trying to see without opening his eyes. Because of how he was lying, all he could see was dark, aged, hardwood floor stained walnut. Definitely not his floor. Solid Navy Blue colored flannel sheets. Not his. Again, no sense of anybody around.

Opening his eyes wide, he took in as much of his surroundings as he could without showing he was awake to any watcher. A large, irregularly shaped room. Lots of windows, covered with drapes that blocked the brightest of the light, but still allowed enough to make the room dim, not dark. Nobody present.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer sat up and took in his surroundings. He certainly wasn't in Kansas anymore.

He was in an old fashioned, cannonball bed, tucked up under the eaves of an irregularly shaped room. Steep roof lines came down two thirds of the way down the walls, creating knee-walls. Windows on three sides of the spacious room, including a high, long, window only about a foot high above his head, right at the roof line.

A fire was burning in the gas fireplace across the room, creating heat and keeping the room at a nice temperature. A comfortable arm chair was in the corner at the foot of the bed's alcove facing the fire and a set of French Doors, covered with the same light blue drapes as the window his bed was pushed up next to. A chess set and timers sat ready for play on a small table next to the arm chair. A low cupboard door opposite his bed. Fully stocked built in bookshelves and a TV next to the door. Between the fireplace and the door sat a small cabinet with a small refrigerator, microwave and a counter with a coffee maker that was clearly on a timer and brewing coffee as he watched. A Kurieg coffee maker sat next to it. A sink completed the tiny kitchen.

Behind the head of the bed was a treadmill in a corner, an archway with a window beyond and what appeared to be a bathroom, at least what he could see of it. A built in dresser completed the spacious room.

The rumbling made itself known, and Reid looked at the foot of the bed. A Siamese cross short-haired cat gazed at him, purring from it's place, curled up on the down quilt.

Blinking, Reid just gazed around. He was wearing his own tee shirt and sleep pants that he'd gone to be in the night before. His ipod was on the bedstand next to his bed. A picture of his mother was next to that. A clock ticked softly, creating a homey sound. 8:00. Light out, so morning. Saturday?

Dr. Spencer Reid, genius, child prodigy, holder of multiple PHDs and not yet 27 years old, sat stunned and completely at a loss as to what had happened. Last night he'd gone to bed in his own small Virginia apartment, woke up with a nightmare at 2am, gone back to sleep, then woken up . . . . here. The more he thought about it, the more convinced that he'd been drugged. But how? And when? And, above all, why?

The purring got louder as the cat got up and picked it's way carefully over to push at Spencer's hand. Automatically, he started to pet it. The cat purred harder, and wound around the young man's hand and wrist. He probably would have sat there just petting the cat and dazed, had not nature chosen that moment to make him realize it was calling.

Bemused, he through back the covers, completely insulting the cat who stamped back to the foot of the bed, back turned pointedly. Swinging his feet to the floor, he found his slippers. They were his own slippers. Getting up, he made his was to the archway, and the0 alcove with the bathroom to the right of it. On the left, an old upright piano was shoved against the wall. After using the facilities, which were nice, and well fitted with a shower and a claw foot tub, as well as his shaving kit (again, how own shaving kit from his go-bag), he stopped at the window and swept back the curtains.

The first jarring note from the homey, comfortable atmosphere was the wrought iron bars on the window. But even though they looked ornate, they were clearly functional as well. Spencer blinked, then looked outside onto the cold, frosty landscape. He was high up, and he looked out onto a bleak, unkept field of high, brittle, winter grasses. The colors of washed out sage, and dry moss were windswept and rippled in the never-ending breeze. Nothing else. No other landmarks, just the field drawing away from the house into the distance.

What he could see of the house was dark roofing near his window, and weathered blues, grays and lavender paint. Victorian lines. He was in the attic of a Victorian house.

"Huh." Thinking a moment, he went to the opposite end of the room and pushed the drapes back from the French doors, and blinked. He looked out onto a small balcony. The deck was sheltered by the eaves, and looked out onto the ocean. An unending view of an angry sea, far below. Opening the doors, he stepped out, and realized that there were more ornate ironwork bars enclosing the balcony, making it into a very pretty cage. Inviting, but a cage none the less. A chaise lounge was covered against the weather and the cold.

Shivering, he stepped up to the end of the small balcony, and looked down as far as he was able, not that the bars would let him lean out. The height surprised him. The house was clearly built at the edge of a huge, rocky cliff, and far below, the breakers on the rocks created the muffled roaring he'd heard before. Only now it wasn't muffled. The sea was angry, and the swells broke over the rocks and reared up the cliff to a massive height. It looked to be a straight drop from his balcony to the water hundreds of feet below.

Retreating back to the warmth of the room, he shut the doors and returned to climb on his bed to push the drapes back from that window. This time a view of the cliff stretching away from the house, and more water and field. No habitations, no buildings, no boats, no anything. Just desolation and water.

Somehow, it seemed more peaceful than desolate.

Until you noticed the bars that were on this window as well.

Reid sat for a moment on the bed, thoughtful. He looked at the door across from the bed, in the middle of the wall. Crossing, he opened it. Inside was a dumbwaiter with many shelves. There was a plate with a selection of fruit, and some pastries. Breakfast, apparently.

Reid sat back on the bed, leaving the dumbwaiter door open. Then it hit him. He was a prisoner. A comfortable one, but a prisoner, none the less. There was no door to the outer world. Only windows. No trapdoors, no roof doors, nothing. He was imprisoned, he had no idea where, or why.

CM CM CM CM CM

Reid's next plan of action was typical for him. He proceeded to explore every nook and cranny of his prison, taking in every detail, mentally cataloguing every item available to him. He literally checked every inch of the floor, walls and ceiling. First, there was no door. No entry door, no trap door in the floor, no opening onto the roof. The windows opened, but the bars were welded into place. The only possible way in was down through the dumbwaiter, and that was clearly secured with heavy bars. He'd rested his whole weight on it, and not even a fraction of an inch budge.

Secondly, a lot of his own personal possessions were here. His clothes were in the built in dresser, and he'd even found a tiny closet with some of his sweaters hanging up. Many of his books were here, he'd found his go bag (neatly unpacked and stored), his messenger bag with contents, his laptop (no internet connection at all), and many of his books on tape. These were stacked neatly next to the TV/DVD player and a small portable tape deck. There wasn't any TV reception, but there was an interesting selection of movies and documentaries ready to pop into the DVD player. There were also CDs by his favorite composers.

A tiny, stackable washer and dryer were in the same closet as his clothes, and the refrigerator was fully stocked with his favorite juices, fruits, breads and meats and cheeses. There was music stacked on the piano. Music, again, from his favorite composers. The piano was a real draw. He hovered over it for a moment. He hadn't had a piano for years now, and he'd missed playing. And it was in tune. That was a bonus.

As astonishing as it was, all that he could have wished for with the exception of contact with the outside world was right here in this room. His tastes and interests were anticipated and provided for with uncanny precision. Right down to the nightlights stationed in the outlets throughout the room, clearly meant to keep the dark at bay.

The only things missing however, were vital. His wallet and all identification. His cell phone. And his FBI credentials and gun. Whoever had him, was planning on keeping him.

After taking several hours to examine his surroundings, he knew he was well and truly trapped. Sinking down on the edge of the bed, Spencer processed all the information. He knew he was a prisoner, but honestly? He found it hard to get very worked up about it. He was clearly intended to be here for awhile and somebody had gone to great lengths to make sure he was comfortable. That led to a less pleasant conclusion.

He'd been studied. All the little things, right down to his fear of the dark. Unease nibbled at him. Somebody had been watching him for a long, long time. This was well planned, and well executed.

A loud bang, followed by a louder rattle made him jump, then look at the dumbwaiter cupboard. Leaping to his feet, he reached the door in two long strides, hoping to see a way of escape. Thoughts of jumping on top of the contraption and sending it down and him along with it were uppermost in his thoughts as he wrenched open the door, only to be faced with a blank wall. A large piece of wood was blocking the doorway and access to the shute. And after a tentative push, then a much harder shove, it was clearly that it was securely bolted into place.

Ear to the wall, he could hear sounds.

"Help!" His voice was rusty. He cleared his throat. "Heelllpppp!"

"There isn't any need to shout, Dr. Reid." The voice echoed throughout the room, clearly heard although the speaker didn't raise his voice. Sound system in the walls, Reid's mind supplied. He stepped back from the wall warily.

"You didn't eat your breakfast. You must be hungry. Let's see if this is more to your taste."

Another rumbling, rising, and stopping behind the wall. More sounds like heavy bolts being shot into place and others moving, and the wall dropped, revealing the dumbwaiter once more. The fruit and pastry plates were still there, but also, a covered hot plate.

Reid looked at it warily.

The voice spoke again, gently this time. "There are no drugs. It's just food. Pad Thai. I believe that is your favorite."

Reid's stomach growled at the thought. Yum.

"I promise, Spencer. May I call you Spencer? It is safe. You are safe. You have no reason to fear."

Reid finally concluded that it probably was safe. After all, this person had gone to great lengths to make him comfortable. That didn't mean it would be safe later, but for now at least, he probably was okay. He took the plate over to a small coffee table in front of the fireplace, and dropped to the floor. Uncovering the tray, he found an appealing meal. Shrugging he began to eat.

"My team will come find me." The effect was somewhat lost by his mouth full of Thai food. And really good Thai food. He was starving.

"Good?"

"Ah, yeah," he said in spite of himself.

"Excellent." The man sounded satisfied. "And as for your team, yes, they will probably look for you. For awhile at least." The voice was oddly gentle.

Reid blinked. The man didn't sound worried about it at all. Odd. "They won't give up. And they won't be happy when they find you."

"Oh, they won't find me. They won't look that hard."

"You're wrong." Reid was positive in that.

"No, I'm not." And again, the voice was oddly gentle. "Deep down, you know that as well. To them, you are a tool. An unusual tool to be sure. They won't like the loss of that tool, and they will search. But other cases will come up, and they will be able to work without you. Slower, granted, but the same conclusions will be reached, and soon they will move on. They will look off and on, but with less and less intensity."

"You're wrong," Reid said again. But the seeds of doubt had been sown.

"Did they look for Jason Gideon?"

"Gideon left a note." Reid didn't question that the man knew about Gideon. This person had done their homework.

"Yes. But did he leave against his will after that? Or did he go off on his own. Did anybody look?"

"I did." Defensive.

"Of course you did. Did anybody else?"

Reid had to think about that.

"Enough for now. We'll have lots of time to talk. I'll leave you to sort out your thoughts."

"Wait! "Why are you doing this?" Reid was kicking himself for not asking earlier.

"Why? To save you of course. You are valuable. You're mind is something incredibly special. Too special to be wasted on the BAU and their 'use & abuse' policies. They use people, then discard them when they've used them up. Here you can think, write, explore. If you need anything, just let me know. I'll do my best to get it for you."

"But I'm a prisoner!"

"Only for now. In the future, we shall see." A click indicated that a microphone had shut off.

"Wait!" Reid shouted again. "Come back!"

Nothing. The room was silent again, except for the ticking clock and the sound of the surf on the rocks far below.

Reid picked up his fork again, and began to eat again, slowly, his mind working out his problem. Who on earth was this man? And where was he. The best option he had was to play along and see if he could profile the man behind the voice. Find the profile, find the weakness. And for the first time it struck him. The lack of a door into this room besides the secured dumbwaiter was a boon after all. Maybe he couldn't get out, but nobody else could get in except through the dumbwaiter. And he'd hear that long before somebody arrived inside.

With a deep sigh, he realized that he was tired clear down to the bone. Good food, and the after effects of the sedative no doubt. Getting up he stumbled over to the big bed, and crawled in, curling up on his side. He was a little surprised that he thought he could sleep, but frankly, he just couldn't keep his eyes open. Besides, he needed to be strong so he'd be ready when the team came. As he dropped off, he felt a weight settle near his back, then the sound of purring. Smiling slightly, he reached back and scratched the cat's ear lightly, and heard an increase in the purr. Sighing, he dropped off.


	3. Part 1 Solace section 2

A Gossamer Cage

By spense

Part 1 – Solace (1.2)

Reid's days soon fell into a pattern. He slept deeply and well at night, and woke when breakfast was sent up. Often he and his captor talked some over the meal, the disembodied voice cheerful and interesting. Reid catalogued as much as he could gather in his head. He asked what he could call him.

A thoughtful pause, then "You may call me Hal."

Reid had burst out laughing. "Like 2001?"

"Yes, exactly," was the reply. A clear smile evident in the voice.

That had sparked a lively discussion about science fiction, and Reid realized later that for the first time, as he devolved into a ramble ('Did you know that Star Trek . . .") that his audience was truly interested, and not just humoring him. That encouragement continued over the next days, as they discussed one subject followed by another.

Chess games began soon after that. Hal clearly had a set in front of him as did Reid, and short commands of 'Pawn to King 4' and the like were normal after that. Reid found Hal to be an excellent chess player and as much a challenge to him as Jason Gideon. He also hadn't enjoyed an opponent as much since Gideon either.

Hal chatted with Spencer at odd times, always unexpected. Sometimes at meals. Sometimes several times a day, some days they didn't speak at all. Meals were also not on a strict pattern. Breakfast and Dinner were often sent up via the dumbwaiter. Lunch, Spencer always fended for himself from the small, but well-stocked refrigerator (when he remembered to eat). All he had to do was ask, and the staples would be sent up the next time the dumbwaiter returned. If the meals came up, they came up at regular times: 8am for breakfast, 5:30pm for dinner. If they didn't arrive in the dumbwaiter, Spencer knew to make his own. Sometimes meals would be sent up for days on end, other times, he would make his own for a few days running. There was always enough staples sent up for him prior to those periods. He learned to anticipate those days.

The rest of the days, Spencer spent writing, reading, playing the piano, and essentially, all the things he had wanted to do but had never had the time. He worked out on the treadmill religiously. He didn't particularly care for exercise, but he was smart enough to know that never leaving the room would be terrible for his muscles, and when the team came, he needed to be strong.

Spencer never lost an opportunity to draw Hal out, but the man was cagey and very careful about what he said. Reid has always known that he himself was very good at redirecting people away from himself, but Hal was better. Clearly he'd had a lifetime to practice.

But for the first time, Spencer found somebody was interested in him. Not in his gifts, but his thoughts and views on subjects. He'd always felt that Jason Gideon had felt that about him, and saw him more like a son. But after he'd left so precipitously, it had been clear that he'd mistaken obligation and the fact that the man was his mentor for more of a feeling of family. He so clearly been wrong in that thought. But Hal was generally interested in what made Spencer, Spencer.

Reid's biggest concern at first had been for his mother. Hal had suggested before Reid had ever mentioned anything (another clue as to how thorough Hal's research had been into his life) that he continue to write her letters. "But just so you can't send out anything in a code, I'll transcribe them into a wordprocesser, changing the layout, and I'll send them off. I'm sure you understand."

Reid had sighed slightly. He'd planned to do just that.

Hal had laughed. "I'm sorry, Spencer, but it truly is for your own good. Don't you feel better since you've been here? Less tired, more relaxed?"

Spencer had to admit that he was right. He could stay up late working and researching as much as he wanted. He didn't have to get up for anything except breakfast. Hal provided disks with taped newscasts, and magazines and other scientific journals, so Reid was up with current events. He researched, he wrote letters to his mother, and basically he had no boundaries mentally, just the four physical walls.

Hal encouraged him to talk about the BAU and the team. For the first time, Spencer did just that. He talked about his frustrations, and his insecurities. How he felt during the Davenport case when the killer had talked about his autistic tendencies. How that had frightened him. How frustrated he would get.

Spencer began to write articles on serial killers. All the things he'd seen and how they were alike and how there were different. He began to work on another PHD. Hal provided the materials and texts and disks for the computer.

And so one day, merged into the next.

Suddenly Spenser realized that it was Spring. He'd been here two months. Two months of working late into the night, accompanied by the cozy sounds of rain on the roof and the thundering surf.

And the realization that Hal had been right – the team hadn't come for him. Not yet.

CM CM CM CM

Days merged into more days, into weeks, into months. The seasons continued to change. Spencer's belief in his team waned. One day, in late summer bordering on autumn, on a DVD of different newscasts that had arrived that morning, he came across a brief press conference by JJ and Hotch. Stunned, he watched as they talked about the case they were working on in South Dakota. Reid recognized the language, and the message that they were getting out to the killer. Drawing him out, his brain supplied automatically. It was brief, then the summary of the next newscast, this one from Colorado came on.

They had moved on. They weren't working on finding him, they were working other cases. Spencer turned off the TV, and moved towards the open French doors. He sat in the lounge, staring blindly out at the ocean. The breeze from the water was cooling. The sea was never quiet and there was always the breeze. He had determined that he was on an island, or an isolated place on the east coast (the sun rose in his eyes if he didn't close the drapes on the doors) right on the edge of the sea. The water was clearly deep by the color, and the swells came in without breaking until they hit the cliff.

He was interrupted by Cat, who had decided that he preferred Spencer above all others, according to Hal. Cat would come and go as he pleased, sliding through the bars of the open windows, or slithering down an impossibly small opening next to the dumbwaiter. But he always returned to sleep with Spencer, or share some of his meal. Cat jumped on his lap, and settled down, purring. The sound was comforting as he confronted the betrayal of the people he had considered family.

Hal had warned him. That they would have other jobs to do, and that his case would go cold. That he was a tool, out of sight – out of mind. Like Gideon, they had been able to just walk away. He felt numb. They probably continued searching off and on, but other things would get in the way, and the days would burn by quickly, and he was now a cold case. He stared outside, trying not to think, petting Cat automatically. Cat at least would love him unconditionally. He didn't have to do anything, or be anything for Cat.

He must have sat for hours before Hal's quiet voice intruded. "Spencer? Spencer! Are you all right?"

Reid started, and realized that the sky was darkening and it was getting chilly. Picking up Cat, he padded inside, bare feet not making a sound, and shut the doors. "Hi, Hal," he sigh.

"What's wrong?" Hal sounded concerned.

He was silent for a moment, dumping Cat on the bed, then walking across to the arm chair and dropping into it. "I watched the newscasts from yesterday."

"So? The world's an awful place, but what else is new?"

"The BAU was giving a press conference."

A pause, then "Ah."

"Yeah," Spencer echoed bitterly. "JJ and Hotch, after a killer in South Dakatoa."

Hal remained silent, sympathy pulsing in the moment.

"You were right. They've stopped looking."

"I'm sorry, Spencer. I hate being right on something like this."

Spencer snorted, and crossed his arms.

"I did tell you that you were better off here," Hal filled in softly.

Silence.

"Are you unhappy?"

Spencer considered this. No, he wasn't. It was just the principle of the thing. He didn't like being a prisoner. "No, not really," he said thoughtfully.

"But you just thought it was temporary."

"Ah, yeah. I just always thought that they would come."

"I know you did." Hal continued, empathetic. "For what it's worth, I am sorry. But it's best that you see them for who they are."

Spencer looked up from his arms. "And who is that?"

"They were your employers. People you worked with. No more, no less."

Reid sighed and looked down. Once again he had been wrong in his perceptions of people. How could he be so incredibly smart, and so stupid about people?

"What can I do?" Hal asked quietly.

"Let me out?" Reid suggested, somewhat sardonically.

"No," Hal laughed. "That would not be a good idea. Somebody else would latch onto you and leech you for their own ends. No, it's better this way."

Another long pause, this time considering. Then, "I have to go away for a few days, shall I try to get some of your books and pictures from your things?"

"Can you do that?" Reid looked up surprised.

"Oh, I'm sure your possessions are stored somewhere. I'll see what I can do. I'll break into the storage unit if I have too. Anything specific that you'd like?"

Reid perked up. "Ah, yes. There are some books, and there's some . . ." Words began pouring out.

"Slow down," Hal laughed. "Make a list, and put it in the dumb waiter. No promises, but I'll see what I can do. Who would have taken care of your things?"

Reid thought a moment. He had a designated bank account set up for rent, bills, phone, etc, and another longer term for Bennington Sanitarium only. There was enough for a few years of his mother's bills in that one. His account for his expenses was shorter term. It was automatic, and set up to pay regularly whether he was there or not. That would have run out a few months ago. Nothing from his other accounts would have been touched. He had to think a moment after that.

"Hotch. He had, um, has, my power of attorney." A bitter smile twisted his lips. Clearly business on Hotch's point of view. Take care of the tool.

"Definitely in storage, then. Give me a few days," Hal commented.

Reid just nodded, trying not to feel abandoned once again.

CM CM CM CM

Weeks flowed into more weeks, months into the next. Reid was incredibly productive. He finished one thesis, and was working on another. Hal had typeset and bound it for him, sending the finished product up the dumbwaiter. Multiple articles were written, and stacked up on shelves, never seeing a publisher. Reid didn't particularly care. He'd never been much for the public eye, he just like the research and the writing.

It was hard, without the internet, but as Hal had explained, they were out so far away from civilization, that he had no way of getting it. Reid had gotten used to asking for what he wanted, and getting dvds and cd-roms back with the information he needed. The homey attic was stacked with books and papers, looking more and more like Reid's old apartment than he'd ever thought possible.

Hal had provided most of the personal items Reid had requested, much to his surprise and delight. Life went on, and Reid settled more and more into the routine. He saw a few more press conferences, JJ with Hotch in the background, Rossi on the talk shows pushing his new book, another with JJ talking about the latest killer they were following.

His stomach twisted, and then he'd bury himself in more research. He also played the piano, and began composing again. He hadn't had time for that in years. Time merged and lost meaning and winter came on once again.

Then one morning, Reid woke up and realized that the room was freezing. Getting up, he headed over to the gas fireplace and realized that the pilot light had gone out. The fireplace was on a thermostat, and was set to go on if the temperature dropped below 72. The thermostat showed that it was 38 in the room. There were no matches, no lighter, and after looking closer, he realized that there was no gas for the fireplace either. Lose – lose situation there.

"Geez!" Looking around, Spencer suddenly realized that there were no lights on either. The nightlights weren't glowing, and the microwave showed no light. No power.

"Hal? Hal!" Spencer crawled back in bed to stay warm. Cat crawled under the covers with him.

There was no answer. Spencer had just finished a large project late last night. He'd been pretty oblivious about anything for the last two weeks or so. Now, he cast his mind back. He hadn't talked to Hal for awhile. How long? Three days? A week? Yeah, about week, he'd guess. And come to think of it, the dumbwaiter hadn't been up for awhile either. He'd been living out of the fridge.

Getting up, he went over to the fridge. Nearly empty. He'd been more oblivious than he'd thought. Well, he may as well get some sleep until Hal spoke up.

It took two more days before he realized that Hal wasn't going to say anything, and no more food would be coming up the dumbwaiter. The power had never come back on, and he was out of food. The pipes were now frozen, and all the water he had was ice.

For the first time in months, Spencer looked for a way out. And like before, there just wasn't one. He was trapped in a prison that hadn't ever felt like one, but was now a deathtrap. Huddling under the covers with Cat, he thought through thru the past year. Something must have happened to Hal, he would never have left him. As soon as he'd thought it, he laughed bitterly to himself. Of course Hal had left him. Everybody else had, so why not him as well?

Deciding it was easier just to sleep his way into oblivion, he hunkered down in the bed, wearing everything he could and covered with all the blankets he could find. Then, he just petted the cat until he fell asleep, never expecting to wake up. And honestly? He didn't much care anymore. Oblivion couldn't come quickly enough.

End Part One.

Next up: Part Two – Go Team!


	4. Part 2 Go Team section 1

A Gossamer Cage

Part Two - GO TEAM! (2.1)

NOTE: Part Two runs concurrently with Part One. Whereas Part One was Reid's point of view, this is the same time period from the BAU team's point of view.

Monday morning following the Owen Savage case was quieter at the BAU than usual, but much of the strain seemed to be gone. Agents drifted in and began work. Prentiss was late, and glared at Morgan when he pointed it out with a grin before putting his head back down to lose himself in his work. Rossi ambled in later yet, an easy half smile on his face as he headed for his office.

By the time they all gathered in the conference room at 9am for briefing, Reid was the only team member still not present.

Hotch looked at the empty seat with a raised eyebrow. "Anybody heard from Reid?"

Dead silence answered his question. Finally Morgan spoke up. "I did try to call him a couple of times this weekend, but got no answer."

Tightening his lips in annoyance at his perpetual problem child, Hotch just nodded at JJ to proceed. It wasn't like Reid caused problems on purpose, but just by the nature of his unique way of viewing the world, he ended up at odds with the FBI structure more than not. Hotch felt like he seemed to forever being the band-aid protecting one from the other. Hotch was more than happy to do it, but it could get wearing, and he was, in essence, a by-the-book kind of guy. But somehow, over the years, the BAU seemed to be making him bend more often of late.

By the time they finished with everything JJ had available, they all had consults and various files to look through and Reid was still a no-show. The team was quiet as they dispersed, however several cell phones were pulled out as team members exited towards their desks.

Half an hour later, there was still no word from Reid, and Hotch was moving purposefully through the bullpen when Morgan stopped him. "Hotch, Reid. . ."

"I know, Morgan. I'm on my way there right now to check."

Morgan sighed at the tension in Hotch's shoulders. Reid could be enough to drive a person crazy at times, but was generally good-hearted. Things like Physics Magic, and his rambles about obscure facts didn't always fit in with the FBI demeanor, but still, they weren't major annoyances. Every profiler had their own ways of letting off steam.

But after last week's case? And the whole situation with Owen Savage and Reid leaving the team in the dark to handle things on his own, Hotch would have his hands full dealing with the fallout. Morgan knew that between the FBI brass in general, Strauss in particular, and with Reid himself, it didn't look to be an easy week for the Unit Chief. The FBI had never had an agent as young as Reid, or that brilliant either. And truth be told, nobody but Gideon or Hotch had ever really known how to handle him. It was as much like raising a kid as it was training an agent.

"Do you want company?" Morgan asked, knowing better than to say more.

"No." Hotch was blunt.

Morgan just nodded. Clearly Reid was still in the doghouse. But Reid was also never absent, and certainly never took a day off without calling and talking to his supervisor directly. Hence, worry, as much as irritation, was clearly part of Hotch's bad mood.

"Sir!" Agent Anderson's voice caught their attention as he came hurrying across the bullpen. "SIR!"

Hotch sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Anderson?"

"I'm sorry, Sir. I got in late this morning and hadn't checked my email before now," the administrative agent began breathlessly.

Morgan bit back a laugh, and he could have sworn he heard Hotch curse under his breath.

"I fail to see how that . . ." Hotch began, his tone dripping with frost.

"There was an email from Dr. Reid. He asked me to log some leave for him and to let you know."

_Huh_. Morgan lifted his eyebrows at that. It wasn't like Reid to do an end run. Usually he dealt with people head on.

"Ok, thank you. Did he say how long?" Hotch asked.

"Yes, this week. He'd be back on Monday."

"Thank you, Anderson"

The administrative agent for the team nodded, and retreated gratefully back out of range. Hotch in a mood wasn't something you generally wanted to tangle with.

"Are you still going to his place?" Morgan asked quietly.

Hotch shook his head, unsmiling.

"Do you want me to go?" Morgan continued.

"No. If he wants to sulk, that's fine. As long as he returns with his head fully in the game, he can take whatever time off he needs." Hotch turned on his heel and headed back up the stairs to his office.

"Uh-oh, looks like Daddy is pissed," Emily commented quietly from her desk.

Morgan took his seat, snorting. "Yeah, no kidding. But then again, that was quite a stunt Reid pulled last week, you have to admit. Leaving his superiors at the cemetery when he knew the unsub wouldn't be there? AND going to where he knew where the unsub would be? AND going in without a weapon or a vest?" Morgan pulled back and took a deep breath. That picture of Reid unarmed and unprotected still caused him to go cold with fear. Dear Lord. It had been so close. The fact that he'd scared the shit out of everybody just didn't seem to dawn on Reid as to the reason why everybody had been so angry.

Prentiss smiled knowingly as Morgan visually calmed himself down. She knew it was the fact that Reid had put his life in jeopardy, more than the fact that he'd left Morgan at the cemetery with the others, that drove Derek insane. Derek was a man of action; it had about undone him to think he was going to watch the younger agent die right there in the street. Sometimes Reid just wasn't as bright as he thought he was.

Morgan just continued like the moment hadn't happened. "And you can bet Strauss is all over Hotch about every bit of it."

Prentiss shook her head. "No kidding. And Strauss aside, I do not even want to think about how many ways that whole thing with Owen Savage could have gone wrong. That's just not a picture I can get out of my brain."

"Oh, I hear you," Morgan agreed wholeheartedly. "Has Hotch talked to him yet?"

"Yep. On the plane. I didn't hear it, but I can guess it wasn't pleasant."

"Oh, I'll bet. But he had it coming."

Prentiss nodded agreement. "But still, it doesn't look like Hotch is too pleased with Dr. Reid right now, so I suggest we work, keep our heads down, and don't rock the boat for the next few days. We don't want that displeasure spreading."

"I'm with you, woman. I'm with you," Morgan emphatically agreed, and turned his attention to his desk piled with folders.

CM CM CM

The week ended up being busy. Unusually so. The files piled up, and Prentiss and Morgan often looked wistfully at their colleague's empty desk. Reid's cheerful demeanor, his quick mind, and seemingly unending well of random facts were missed acutely. During weeks like this, not only his ability to wade through paperwork quickly (and actually enjoy it!) but his ability to lighten the mood were always assets. It was tough having him gone.

It wasn't until the call came in on Sunday afternoon for a case, and Reid was still a no-show that things came to a head.

Hotch was beginning to feel like it was dejavu, he was dealing with the situation of an AWOL Elle once more, when he sent the team on the plane ahead and stayed to behind to deal with his errant agent. Only this time it wasn't Elle, it was Reid, and the reality was significantly different. There were times when he hated being a supervisor.

Reid hadn't been involved in a shooting (thank the lord), nor was he particularly devious. His worst offences came from the fact that he was young. But with that also came with the fact that he was moldable. He was also brilliant, and was currently a better agent than many Hotch had worked with in his experience. Hotch had been molding him into an agent for some time, ever since Gideon had entrusted him to his care, but it was a still a work in progress. And Hotch had never regretted a minute spent on the unique young man. Sometimes it was better to go outside the box than just follow the rules every time.

Still, it was with a total sense of exasperation that Hotch headed to his youngest agent's apartment on Sunday night, rather than being on the plane to Cincinnati with his team.

The exasperation was gone and worry was replacing it as he left Reid's apartment an hour later. The whole feel was . . . odd. Reid clearly hadn't been there for awhile. His go-bag was gone. His credentials, gun, and wallet were gone. His laptop was gone. His keys were gone, but his car was still in the parking lot.

But his coffee pot, which was on a timer, had been running daily for a while, and the mess was staggering. If Hotch hadn't come by when he did, it probably would have burned the place down. Reid would never have forgotten to turn it off. Never. It just wasn't like him.

Other things were out of place. His refrigerator was stocked, as though he had just shopped, but then left. Everything was now bad. Hotch had practically had to hold his nose while he cleaned out turned milk and meat, and rancid fruit. Again, not at all like the kid. Small things, but to a profiler? This screamed that something was wrong.

CM CM CM

Hotch met the team in Cincinnati on late Monday morning. When he arrived without Reid, the tension was palpable. Fielding the questions with the skill of JJ, Hotch informed them that another email had arrived via Anderson's computer, requested an undefined leave of absence. But Hotch also told them of his feelings on leaving Reid's apartment, and the worry quota ratcheted up another notch.

"You don't suppose he just left, do you?" Rossi asked quietly. He didn't believe it, but he had to ask.

Hotch answered first. "No. That just isn't like Reid. Something has happened to him, and I intend to find out what."

Morgan agreed wholeheartedly. "Reid can be dense in social situations, but he wouldn't worry anybody purposefully. He knows this team, and how we think."

"He wouldn't do this, not matter how angry he is," JJ agreed

"I agree," Hotch answered. "Unfortunately, Strauss does not. She pointed out that Reid has had an incredibly difficult year. Between the situation in Georgia and Gideon's abrupt departure, Reid's request for a leave of absence isn't unreasonable."

"True, but he wouldn't go about it this way," Morgan agrued.

"You're preaching to the choir, Morgan," Hotch said, holding his hand up to shut the other agent down. "But we're outvoted and outranked on this. She does not see a problem."

"But you do," Rossi said calmly.

"Hell yes," Prentiss exclaimed. "Don't you?"

"Yes, I do," Rossi answered, "But I want to know exactly where Hotch stands."

"Reid is gone, with no word to any of us. Only an email to Anderson. We're profilers, and that is not Reid's behavior. But I have been ordered here to work this case with you by my superior, so I've done the next best thing."

"And that is?" Prentiss asked.

"I've put Garcia on it," Hotch answered.

Morgan started to laugh. "Perfect. If that lady can't find something, nobody can."

"We work the case we're here to work. We follow orders. But any chance you get, you work on finding Reid. Is that understood?" Hotch asked.

Curt nods all around. They were all in on this.


	5. Part 2 Go Team section 2

A Gossamer Cage

Part Two - GO TEAM! (2.2)

Garcia dug. And Garcia begged. And Garcia glared. And was doing just that when Morgan entered her lair.

"Baby girl, what are you doin'?" He laughed.

"My babies are failing me," she moaned, looking up at him in desperation.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't find anything on Reid. And when I say anything, I mean anything. He's gone!" she wailed.

Morgan grabbed a chair, and sat down closer to her level. "Well, yeah he's gone, but track his cell phone or somethin'."

"See, you don't understand!"

"Okay, try me," Derek answered patiently.

"Okay. See, everybody leaves a trail of some kind. Credit cards, insurance, cell phone activity, something! But Reid is off the grid. His cell phone is off, his computer isn't connected to the web, he hasn't used any credit cards, nothing!" Garcia said rapidly.

"What about power bills, phone, rent?" Morgan asked.

"Paid directly online."

On seeing Morgan's mouth opening to ask the next question, she anticipated him. "The accounts are paid with either a debit card or direct payment from a bank account owned by one Spencer Reid. It's got a balance that is rapidly depleting. In a couple of months it will be empty."

Garcia continued, clearly worried. "But gas, food, meals, any day to day stuff? Dry as the Sahara," she rattled off.

"So you can't find him," Morgan said slowly.

"No!" Garcia wailed. "He's just not out there in cyber world to be found!"

CM CM CM CM

Days passed, merging into weeks. The BAU team continued to try to call, email, stop by, anything to try to locate their friend. Garcia dug deep. And still came up with nothing.

Hotch managed to talk Strauss into giving them a week to look for Reid uninterrupted. She didn't see the need, but she granted them the time. And the team dove in, treating the search like a case, with Reid as the missing victim.

But with all of their resources, and their combined brainpower, as well as the drive that comes from missing one of their own, they still could find nothing.

And after the week was ended, and they were well into week two of their search, they were called onto a new case.

"Strauss is emphatic that we take the New Mexico case." Hotch entered the room and bypassed any greeting, coming straight to the point.

"She can't do that," Morgan said emphatically.

"She can, and she did."

"But Reid . . . " Prentiss started, looking horrified.

"I know." Hotch just sighed.

"When do we leave?" Rossi asked quietly.

Hotch dropped into a chair, letting the file on the New Mexico case hit the table with more force than was absolutely necessary. "Wheels up in forty-five minutes."

There was dead silence in the room, weighted with despair.

"She's really insistent that we not look for Reid," Morgan spat angrily.

"No, she's just not convinced that he's not missing voluntarily," Hotch explained.

"No way!" Morgan slammed the table with his fist.

"There is no way Spence would do that," JJ interjected.

Hotch held his hands up for quiet. "I know, I know. We all know that, but Stauss doesn't. And we haven't been able to show her any differently. All that has done is to confirm what we believe. But unfortunately, it's also just confirmed what she believes." He thought a minute, then added, "She said we aren't to work the case, and she specifically said that Garcia cannot work the case." He held up his hand to forestall the mutiny. "But she didn't say we can't have somebody else do it."

Rossi snorted to himself, half smiling. Only Hotch. The prosecutor that Hotch had been still showed up at odd times, and it was clear that part of his brain was working overtime on this one, trying to find a way around the rules that was still within the rules.

Seeing the puzzled looks around the table, he elaborated. "We have a friend outside the FBI jurisdiction do it. We get Gideon to look."

There was a moment of sheer silence as the statement sunk in. Morgan looked stunned. Prentiss and JJ just plain dumbfounded at the idea.

"Jason?" Rossi was incredulous now. "Jason Gideon? He's off in the winds, besides, why would he come back for this? He didn't even say good-bye to anybody. How do we know he didn't kill himself off in solitude somewhere?"

"No way," Morgan said, sincerity in his voice. "He looked at Reid like a son."

Prentiss nodded. "He wrote the only good-bye he said to Reid. Reid found the credentials and letter at the cabin. He knew to look there."

Rossi raised his eyebrows. "Really."

Hotch nodded. "Jason found Reid at CalTech. He recruited him, and put him with me to train when Reid was just barely 21."

"Huh," Rossi commented. "So, tell me this, after Gideon abandoned him, why would Reid want to see him now?"

Hotch shook his head in irritation. "Right now, that doesn't matter. Gideon is probably the only person who can find Reid, who really understands how he thinks."

Rossi saw the nods of agreement around the table. He asked one more question. "Fine. But that is all mote if we can't find him. And from everything I've seen, Jason does not want to be found."

It was like all the air went out of the room at that. Rossi felt bad when he saw the hope leave the faces of the team. He marveled again what a close group he'd wandered into, and was gratified all over again that he was an accepted part of it.

"I don't believe that is a problem," Hotch commented, looking at the one person who had been silent in all of this. "Is it Garcia?"

Penelope sunk deeper into her chair as all faces turned towards her.

"Mama?" Morgan demanded. "Do you know something about Gideon?"

She looked downcast.

"Garcia?" Prentiss looked incredulous.

"Well, I," she looked down at the table so she wouldn't have to look anybody in the eye. "I kind of didsomehackingandfoundhim."

"What was that?" JJ couldn't help laughing.

Garcia sighed and repeated (slower this time), "I kind of did some hacking and found him."

"Exactly how long ago was that?" Morgan asked slowly and deliberately.

Garcia looked anxiously at the group. "About 2 months after he'd gone. I dug around and found his new cell phone number and sent him a text with mine, and told him to keep if for emergencies. He called just once right after that wanting to know if everything was okay. I told him it was, but everybody really missed him. All he said was that it was better this way. I text him once in awhile to make sure. He sends a text back to keep me from calling out the troops."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Prentiss asked.

"Because he told me not to," Garcia wailed.

"Ok, okay," Hotch got there attention. "Garcia, get me the phone number. Everybody else, get ready to leave."

CM CM CM CM

Hotch stared at his phone for a moment after he'd punched in the number.

"Are you all right, Aaron?" Rossi looked in from the hall.

"Yes," Hotch sighed. "Just hoping I'm doing the right thing."

"You are. Gideon has unfinished business here."

Hotch nodded. "I just hope he'll come."

"He will," Rossi said. "See you on the plane."

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

Rossi disappeared, closing the door behind him, and Hotch hit the send button.

After more rings than Hotch had hoped, a familiar voice picked up. "Yes?" The tone was not forthcoming.

"Reid is missing. We need help."

A long pause. "Tell me."

And Aaron did.


	6. Part 2 Go Team section 3

A Gossamer Cage

Part Two - GO TEAM! (2.3)

Jason Gideon wandered around Reid's apartment, taking in the personal space that up until recently had been the genius' refuge. Books were everywhere, clothes strewn where left in an absent-minded moment. Glasses half full of water left on tables. Pens, blank paper, notes with Reid's writing; all framed the state of motion that his mind was constantly in.

It was bittersweet to be here. Jason had missed the kid. Hell, he'd missed the whole team, but he knew he'd done the right thing. He'd had Aaron leave the key under the doormat before he left for his current case, and had driven directly down from Nova Scotia where he'd been staying and exploring when he'd received Hotch's call. He had to make this right. He'd brought Reid into this line of work, and he would find him. He was supposed to have been safe with the team, under Hotch and Dave. Instead, they'd lost him. Gideon's lips tightened. He was a very good profiler, he knew that. And now, that skill would matter most. He couldn't fail this one.

With a sigh, Jason pushed his luggage off to the side, and began to tidy the place up. He needed to get a sense of what was missing, what was still here, and why, before he met Hotch and the team. He had to get a feel for the Victimology. His mind shied away from Spencer as a victim. It was too hard to take. He'd been gone for six months, absent from the kid's live for that length of time, but somehow that had been different from the current situation. He had known that Spencer was with the BAU, working, thinking, interacting with the team members. Cared about and cared for. That's what they did for each other. But now . . . Spencer was just gone.

The very act of touching and picking up and moving objects was its own therapy, so it was with a sense of startlment that Jason opened the drawer containing the letters. It was crammed with them. Mostly with the same handwriting, most likely his mother. But it was the one on top that caught Gideon's eye. He picked it up with the care one would take with an extremely hot object that may maim, and dropped heavily into a kitchen chair.

The soft paper draped against his hold, all the usual stiffness found in paper gone. He opened it slowly. "_I knew it would be you who found this . . ."_

Jason shut his eyes, trying to clear the pain away that his profiling mind was cataloguing. Eidetic memory, but letter read and handled often. All the signs of grieving were there. Gideon could no longer delude himself to the heartache that he himself had caused. Yet another person leaving and abandoning the young man. He could fool himself all he wanted.

Opening his eyes, Gideon resolved to make it up to the young man who was more of a son to him than his own flesh and blood. He would make this right. But first he had to find him.

CM CM CM CM

Four sets of eyes watched at the newly arrived Jason Gideon together with David Rossi followed Hotch into his office.

"Huh. Dad and step-dad. This should be interesting," Morgan commented thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. The comment swiveled the heads of Prentis, as well as JJ and Garcia who were talking with her at her desk.

JJ just pursed her lips and shook her head. "What?" she asked curiously.

"Is it just me, or did that look a little tense to you?" Prentiss asked, frowning slightly as she looked at the closed door, and the window with the now closed blinds.

"Not surprising." The three women turned to look at him in curiosity. He smiled at them. "Interested much?"

"Give, my love" Garcia demanded.

Morgan laughed. It was nice to laugh at something for a change. "Fine. Think about it. Gideon, Ryan & Rossi were the original members of the BAU. Hotch was their recruit. They're old school."

"Yeah," Prentiss said, impatient. "So?"

"Soooo . . ." Morgan drew out, just to irritate her, "They haven't seen each other in years. Rossi left, wrote books, took serial killers mainstream. That always irritated Gideon. He thinks Rossi gave them too much attention."

"Ok, so they have a history. That shouldn't matter with Reid missing."

"But Reid missing adds too it," Morgan pointed out patiently. "Reid was Gideon's protégé'. And frankly, Reid was a kid when he was recruited."

"He still is," Prentiss pointed out.

"True," Morgan admitted. "He's still socially awkward and immature at times. And frankly, Gideon was the closest thing he had to a father. That man provided a stability that Reid never had."

"And then he left," JJ supplied slowly.

Morgan pointed his pencil at her. "Not only left, but basically abandoned him, just like Reid's own father did."

"Reid's father abandoned him?" Garcia asked, shocked.

"When he was 10. Reid didn't tell me until after the Fischer King case last year. Reid took care of his mother from the time he was 10, then had to commit her himself when he turned 18."

"Oh, no," Garcia breathed, looking horrified. JJ didn't look much better.

Prentiss just held her tongue feeling sick inside. Apparently Reid had told her, but nobody else. The nauseous feeling just increased as she remembered what she had said, hoping to help him. Geez.

"He didn't have anyone," JJ whispered.

Morgan nodded seriously. "He was already working on his first PHD at that time. Gideon met him when he was 21, and finishing up his third. Got him to join the bureau. Gave him some stability. Started to teach him how to live in the real world, as part of it. From what I can tell, he's the first person who had ever given a damn about the kid as a person besides just what his brain could do for him."

"Then he left. With only a letter," Prentiss finished bitterly, "And a vague one at that." She sighed. "And I told him that he should remember what Gideon had given, not what he left. Clearly not the right thing to say," she added, almost to herself.

"And Rossi comes back to the BAU, and walked into the carnage that Gideon left behind," Morgan finished.

"I don't know, I just don't see Rossi filling that role for Reid," JJ commented, frowning thoughtfully at the closed door.

"Nope," Morgan said, leaning forward, and breaking the tension. "That's not Rossi's style. And even if he'd wanted too, I seriously doubt Reid would have let him. Betrayed once by his dad, then again by Gideon was more than enough."

"But Rossi cares about Reid, I know he does," Garcia protested.

"Of course he does. Just watch him, he's protective of the kid. But not the way Gideon was. Reid could have been his own son," Morgan nodded.

"And now Jason is back, and Rossi's not happy," Prentiss finished slowly. "He saw what Gideon's leaving did to Reid."

"Yep," Morgan affirmed. "And Hotch is going to have to navigate the waters between the two of them."

There was silence for a moment while they all digested the state of affairs.

Then, from a fierce Garcia, "Well, I don't care." She looked at the others and growled, "I don't. Whatever it takes to get our junior G-man back."

"Amen to that," Prentiss echoed firmly, heading back to her desk.

"And I bet that is exactly what Hotch is thinking," Morgan said sagely.

CM CM CM

"So what do you think?" Hotch asked Gideon immediately as both new arrivals settled into the guest chairs in front of his desk. Rossi's body language was stiff, and he was clearly not happy to have Gideon back in the fold. Not personally, Aaron knew that. Dave liked Gideon, always had. But because of the circumstances. And Rossi didn't trust Gideon not to do another duck and run.

On that, Aaron had to agree. He was taking a huge chance here, but frankly, he was at his last idea on finding Reid. He firmly believed the young man wasn't missing by choice, and he wouldn't quit until he found out what was going on. They took care of their own, and Reid missing was a huge hole in their tight knit little group.

"I agree with you. He's not missing voluntarily, but somebody went to a lot of trouble to see that it appears that he did," Jason began clinically. He sounded for all the world like he was working a random case. "Besides his go-bag, and the usual things that would accompany a short trip, pictures, books, a particular photo album, and other items that I know to be of personal importance to him are gone. Clothes as well. It would have been two or three large boxes worth of things, and not something you carry away on a quick trip. His car is there, and clearly hasn't been used. No, I agree. He isn't missing voluntarily."

Hotch nodded. It was what he'd suspected. But Gideon knew Reid's habits better than any of them. "We contacted Bennington. The letters are still coming to his mother, but they are . . . odd. They're written on a word processer, and the sentence structure is Reid, but it's not. It's altered subtly."

"Coded?" Jason asked.

"No. But again, odd. I'll get the copies for you before you leave," Hotch concluded. "Talk to the rest of the team and get their feel as well."

Gideon chuckled slightly. "Of course. And what about the tech girl, Garcia? Can I use her?"

"She's been ordered off the case, but what she does in her spare time is her business. Just be discrete."

Jason smiled. He'd expected no less of Hotch.

"What are you going to do from here?" Rossi asked abruptly.

Gideon shrugged. "Keep looking, seeing if I can find anything else."

"That's not I meant," Rossi commented succinctly. "Are you going to stick around for awhile this time?"

Gideon looked at Dave, the impassive look on his face changing to something more for the first time. "I'll see this through, Dave. All the way. We'll find him."

"And what then?" Rossi asked. "Are you going to take off again? Because if so, it's probably better that you leave now."

"Dave," Hotch warned. He worried about the same thing, but he also knew that Gideon was their best shot at finding Reid, between the climate at the bureau about a search, and how well Gideon had know the young man. And frankly, Hotch was desperate. He'd do anything at this point.

"No, Hotch, it's okay." Jason held up a hand to silence Aaron's intervention. "Dave is right to ask." Gideon paused a moment and took a deep breath. "I never should have left like I did. I needed to leave, but not the way I handled it. I was afraid. If anybody could have made me stay, it would have only been Reid."

Jason looked at Hotch, and spoke directly to him for a moment. "You know that Reid was more like a son to me than my own."

Hotch nodded.

Rossi broke the moment between the other two men angrily. "Then why . . ."

"Dave, enough!" Hotch interjected. "The past is done."

"But in the future, if . . . when we find Reid, he won't be emotionally capable of dealing with another loss. You know the psychology of victims as well as I do. He's going to need support and stability. So, Jason, I ask you again, what are your plans for after?"

Gideon hid a smile. Spencer had always had that effect on people. The people around him became incredibly protective. Morgan was a perfect case in point. He imagined it had taken awhile to win Rossi over. Reid's mannerisms would have driven Dave right up the wall at first, but Rossi wasn't one of the first and best profilers for nothing. Clearly he felt deeply for Reid, and all the other team members. He was a fitting replacement for his job.

Hotch just sighed. "Well, Jason? I do have to agree with him. We're worried about the present, but the aftermath can do as much damage."

Jason made look directly at both men. "I'm here to stay. I will find Reid. I will see him through the aftermath no matter how difficult. And I have no doubt that Spencer will make my life a living hell until he is convinced that I mean what I say and that I'm not leaving. And you can bet he won't be easy on any of you either, not after he's been missing this length of time and the team hasn't found him yet. But I'm in it through everything."

He paused a moment, then continued. "I wasn't kidding when I said that I consider I have two sons. But only one needs me now. I'm moving back to Washington. I'm back for good. Not to the BAU, but to see this through for Reid, and to make sure he will be alright, and to make him understand that I won't leave again."

Jason could see the belief (and relief) slowly dawn on both men in the face of the bald simple truth of his statements. "I don't make the same mistake twice. I'm going to move into Reid's apartment. I'll pay the bills. That way, it will be exactly as it was when he gets back. He'll need that."

Rossi nodded, looking both relieved and pleased. He wait to see the proof of the statements, but for now, it was enough.

Hotch's face lost some of the tension that had been present. "I can't say I'm not relieved. I'm his power of attorney, and there is only enough in his day-to-day account for a few more months. I wasn't looking forward to making that decision."

"Good. Then I'm going to get started." Jason started to get up.

"Jason," Hotch forestalled him. Once Gideon looked directly at him, Hotch said, "I can't thank you enough. We need the help."

Gideon got up before he answered. "Like I said, I don't make the same mistake twice."


	7. Part 2 Go Team section 4

A Gossamer Cage

Part Two - GO TEAM! (2.4)

Soon after Jason Gideon had arrived, another bombshell dropped. If any member of the team had been harboring a secret fear that Reid really might have done a 'Gideon' and left without a word was destroyed. It began with JJ hurrying through the bullpen and pulling Garcia along in her wake. After picking up first Morgan, then Prentiss, and collecting Rossi as they cleared the catwalk, they all ended up blowing into Hotch's office, causing him to look up, startled.

"What's happened?" He asked, with surprise and no small concern.

JJ herded everyone inside, then shut the door. "Sir, get Gideon on the line."

Hotch stared at her for a moment, then did as she asked, putting the phone on speaker and dialing quickly.

"JJ, what the hell . . . " Morgan began, before he was cut off by Gideon's answer of the phone.

"Yes, Hotch. What?" Gideon's terse response brought back memories to the team.

JJ didn't let anybody get another word in.

"I just got a call. From Lyla Archer."

"Who?" Prentiss asked, then immediately added, "Oh, the actress. Why would she be calling you, JJ?"

"Lyla? Seriously?" This was Morgan, sounding puzzled.

"I'm with Prentiss, why would Lyla Archer be calling you, JJ?" Rossi added, curious, but not alarmed. The fact that JJ would know a rising star in Hollywood was interesting, but no cause for an immediate powwow.

"Quiet!" Hotch's voice cut through the clamor. "JJ, go ahead."

JJ nodded and spoke up in the sudden silence. "Apparently, Lyla Archer and Spencer have kept up correspondence over the last couple of years."

Morgan laughed appreciatively. "Reid, you sly dog."

"Wait, Lyla Archer knows Reid?" Prentiss was disbelieving.

"They kissed in the pool a couple of years ago," Morgan informed her, laughing at the look on her face.

"Morgan, Prentiss, PLEASE!" Hotch got control of the room once again.

"Lyla called me because she hasn't heard from Spence in some time. Apparently, he writes or calls her regularly, and she does him as well. They usually don't go more than a couple of weeks without talking or sending a letter. She's worried because it's been months. She knew he wouldn't just stop without some kind of explanation, and she's concerned. She just got back from a four week shoot, and was sure she'd have something from him, and . . . nothing. She wanted to know if I knew anything."

"She's right," Gideon's voice floated from the phone's speaker. "He wouldn't just stop writing or calling."

"So that's the proof we can use to convince Chief Strauss to let us work on finding him again, right?" Garcia said excitedly.

"Unfortunately, no," Hotch answered thoughtfully. "All it would do is tell her that he left his old life and didn't want anything to do with it."

"But it just confirms to us that he didn't," Morgan added.

"Correct," was Rossi's response.

"So we're back to square one," Prentiss said.

Hotch answered tightly, "Unfortunately, yes. Gideon, keep looking."

"Will do." And with that Jason hung up.

"Alright everybody, back to work," Hotch instructed, looking as frustrated as the rest of them felt.

Hotch did have a chuckle to himself, however, as Prentiss and Rossi exited the room, collaring Morgan and were clearly heard telling him to spill the whole story about Lyla and Reid. Reid had certainly had a knack for making the most unexpected friends. Hotch sighed at the thought. He was becoming desperate. They needed their genius back.

CM CM CM CM

The conversation stuck with Gideon, and he returned to it yet again on one spring day as he walked in the park. He'd made it a habit to track Reed's neighborhood haunts. He ate in the same restaurants, got takeout from the same places, stopped for coffee at the same shops, went to the same museums and bookstores and old record shops, walked in the same parks. Each place he talked to the people about Reid.

The stories were much the same. He was a kind young man, friendly but awkward, not a lot of social graces and very shy, but unfailingly kind. The questions were all the same: tell him hello, tell him we miss him, tell him we hope he comes back soon.

Lives had been touched unthinkingly by Reid. Gideon smiled as he walked in the park, coming upon the chess players, He stopped to watch, and finally, sat down to play every now and then. Once, he played with a young Asian teenager. This young man knew Reid, and had lots to say. Gideon was pleased to see Reid had been mentoring without even realizing it.

Lyla Archer, the people playing chess in the park, the coffee shop baristas. Spencer had touched them all. There was a hole where he was missing.

Watching the chess pieces flash, and the timers smacked, Gideon felt a pattern. A pattern in Spencer's life. A web that was woven with invisible thread. He was looking at this all wrong. He knew Spencer. He'd done the victimology. He had to come at this a different way. He had to look for holes where others were missing.

Feeling his adrenaline begin to pump, and his heart begin to beat that much faster, Gideon turned from the chess games under the blooming cherry trees and picked up his phone.

"Garcia? I need you to look for something . . ."

CM CM CM CM CM

It took months. It was like looking for a needle in a stack of similar needles. Because she used her own time, and what she was looking for may not actually exist, it took months to find the tiny speck of thread and then to begin to follow it back to the source. But she did, and when she excitedly called Jason Gideon, he told her to gather the team, and he would meet them there. That way she could tell everybody at once.

When they were all gathered, Garcia was so excited that she talked to so fast, leaping from word to word, that nobody could understand her.

"Garcia!" Hotch finally shut her down. "Slow down, and start at the beginning."

"Sorry, Sir! But I just can't believe it, I mean, Mr. Gideon asked me, and it took so long, but it's there. I didn't think it was, but it is! And . . ."

"Garcia," Jason interjected, exuding calmness. "One sentence at a time."

The entire team was looking confused.

"Sorry, Sir, Ok, alright. Calm now." She took a deep breath, looking at the amused team sitting around the round table in the BAU room. "Ok."

"Baby girl?" Morgan looked bemused as he prompted her.

"Ok. It's about Reid."

The entire mood in the room changed, as agents exchanged looks, sat up straighter and gave her their complete and undivided attention. Amusement vanished, and they were all business.

"Oh, wow." Garcia blinked at the change. Sometimes she forgot how absolutely incredibly talented and focused that this group of people were.

Taking a deep breath, she started talking. "Ok. Mr. Gideon," she nodded towards him, "called me in late May, and asked me to look for a pattern. Anything that Reid would fit in as a piece. He didn't know what, but anything that could be built around Reid."

"Right, victimology," Prentiss interjected.

"No, not victimology," Jason disagreed. "A pattern that was already formed something Reid just fit into. Like a chess game. Another move."

"How is that not victimology?" Rossi asked.

"Because it isn't based on behavior or anything to do with Spencer or his decisions or his profile. It has to do with a piece of a puzzle, or the lack of a piece of a puzzle."

"Ok, not sure why it's different than victimology, but whatever. Keep going," Morgan pushed.

Garcia just nodded and began to show slides on the screen. A pale young man with stringy, dirty blond hair of about 16 years old showed up on the screen. "This is Willie Waters."

"Seriously?" Prentiss questioned at the name. "Did his parents hate him or something?"

"Emily, shhh," JJ waved her quiet.

"I know, Emily, I know," Garcia nodded. "But he was a senior at Stanford."

"A genius?" Hotch askedo

"Yes. He was a loner, didn't fit in, but was a brilliant musician. He was something of an autistic savant when it came to music. But in almost any instrument. He practiced all the time, and had next to nothing of a social life. His parents set him up in a house that was in a quiet part of town, so that he could practice in piece. He did a lot of his basic courses online, and would only go to campus for anything he couldn't do online."

"Ok, so?" Morgan asked.

"So, when he disappeared, nobody missed him for a week and a half. It wasn't until he didn't show up for a recital rehearsal that somebody decided to check on him. He was just gone. Wallet, music, computer and violin and flute were gone as well."

"Did he ever turn up?" Hotch asked.

"No. No word from him, nothing. This was 10 years ago. He just vanished into thin air. His parents looked everywhere, but they commented to the police that he was kind of an odd kid, and he'd left and gone places without telling anybody before, but showed up again in a week or two. Once it was a month before he returned."

"Geez," Prentiss shook her head. "Didn't anybody follow up?"

"Only once it became clear that he wasn't coming back. That took a couple of months. No trace, nadda."

There was a moment of thoughtful silence as the profilers thought about this, and in terms of Reid.

Garcia didn't let them think to long. She clicked to another slide. This time a heavy set man of about 35, wearing a lab coat and thick glasses came up.

"Meet Dr. Edgar L. Stanton, 36, a full professor at MIT. This man made the computer and math geeks at MAT look like Frat boy football payers."

"Really," Rossi said, dryly.

Garcia nodded. "His lack of manners made for legend at MIT. He was a research professor. He didn't teach. Apparently they tried that, and it didn't work so well. He'd hide in his lab, and often sleep there. He was brilliant, and came up with all kinds of things that only Reid would understand," Garcia broke off for a moment at her offhand mention of Reid. She frowned, then continued in her lightening quick manner.

"And he disappeared. Right of the face of the earth. One day he was there, and the next time somebody went looking for him, he was gone."

"When somebody went looking for him?" Morgan asked surprised. "How long did that take?"

"About a week. Apparently he wasn't exactly a pleasant person, so nobody really sought him out."

"Ouch," JJ commented.

"Same scenario? Personal effects gone, but everything else left behind?" Gideon asked, taking off his glasses, and getting up to look closer at the picture.

"Yes."

"How long ago?" Hotch asked.

"About 7 years ago. The thing is, he turned up, drowned. On the Outer Banks. Only six months after he'd been missing," Garcia added.

"Drowned?" Morgan inquired. "For a recluse like that? That doesn't seem likely."

"Nope," Garcia agreed. "Especially since he didn't even know how to swim."

"Ookkkaaayyy," Prentiss drew out. "That is odd. Anything else?"

"Yes." Garcia snapped to another slide. "Six years ago, another genius. Same story, never found. Three years ago, another." Another slide. "Same story. Peter Amies, 22, and Guenther Young, 29. He was from Toronto, Canada. The details are in the files I gave you."

As she finished, there was silence.

"That's quite a pattern," Prentiss noted. "And you think Reid is number five?"

"Yes, I do. Find this scumbag, and get our Reid back, ok?"

"And only one has turned up dead. Nothing on the other three?" Rossi asked.

The seriousness on Garcia's face seemed so out of place. "No. Dropped off the face of the earth. Just like Reid."

"Ok, we have work to do," Hotch commented, and with that, they all began to dissect the pattern Garcia had laid out.


	8. Part 2 Go Team section 5

A Gossamer Cage

Part Two - GO TEAM! (2.5)

Like anything else to do with Reid's disappearance, nothing revealed itself easily. The BAU team tried everything. They looked into acquaintances, they looked at projects. They looked at anything that could remotely tie the group of highly intelligent missing people together. It was an unbelievably frustrating process, and the only thing that seemed to tie all together (with the exception of Reid) was that nobody seemed to miss them. Miss the contributions to their chosen field, yes, but personally? No.

"And that has to be the saddest thing of all," JJ mentioned once, as they commented on the phenomena yet again.

In this, all the team members were in agreement. As incredibly brilliant as the missing were, they did not appear to have people who loved them. And that was food for thought.

"Do you suppose the unsub felt Reid was the same? Is he taking them to 'save' them?" Rossi finally asked one sunny day in June.

"It fits," Hotch commented slowly.

Gideon nodded. He had joined the team for lunch. They were eating sandwiches on the outdoor patio of the office at Quantico on a warm afternoon in late June. Each member was scrupulous in using their own time to look. Strauss was looking over their shoulders and making sure company time was for cases. If anybody had ever liked Strauss, that emotion had been quelled long ago. She was making a difficult search that much tougher.

"It does," Jason agreed.

"He's wrong," Garcia said fiercely.

"I know, Baby girl. We all know he's wrong. But knowing that the unsub thinks that doesn't get us any further," Morgan added in frustration.

"I know. But keep digging," Hotch instructed. "Sometime, somewhere, we're going to be putting pressure on this phantom. He's subtle, and he's careful, and he has to know we're unearthing his pattern."

Frustrated, the group went back and headed to their desks, and the never-ending consults and paperwork.

CM CM CM CM CM

The next bombshell dropped when Gideon called to tell Hotch that Spencer's apartment had been broken into while he was out, and several items of personal importance to Reid were missing. Hotch called everybody into the conference room, and got Jason on the speaker phone.

"Go ahead, Jason," Hotch called, once everybody was gathered.

"Not much to tell," the disembodied voice of Jason Gideon sounded through the room. "I went out to run some errands, and I came back to find somebody had been in the apartment. Clearly they'd used a key, as there wasn't any sign of forced entry, and obviously were watching the place and waiting until I was out. But several things that are important to Spencer are missing."

"Like what?" Morgan asked.

"Several rather esoteric science and math books that I know he had collected for a series of papers he's wanted to write for some time. Pictures, a coffee mug he particularly likes, that kind of thing." They could almost hear the older man shrugging. "Nothing of much value other than personal," Gideon finished.

"Where are you now?" Hotch asked.

"Outside on the porch. I called you first."

"Good. I'm going to send over a forensics team. I want them to go over everything. JJ?" Hotch looked over at the liaison.

"I'm on it," she nodded quickly, and strode out of the conference room, already on her phone.

"I doubt they'll find anything," Gideon contributed.

"I don't think they will either, but we have to be sure," Hotch agreed.

"One good thing," Rossi commented. He continued once everybody's attention swiveled back towards him. "At least we know he's most likely still alive."

"I think we can safely agree with that," Hotch said thoughtfully, "but we still can't prove he's gone against his will."

"Damn," Morgan muttered.

"Maybe not," Garcia announced, "but I'll take probably alive over most likely dead any day."

"Amen to that," Prentiss muttered.

CM CM CM CM CM

A few months later, the group gathered for another lunch pow-wow on the patio at Quantico. Indian Summer was upon them, and it was hot and sweltering during the day. Frustration was in the air, made all the worse by the Virginia humidity. They all had continued working the pattern on their own time, but weren't coming up with anything new. The forensics team hadn't come up with anything on Reid's apartment, and no new break-ins had occurred. They all felt as if they were going in circles, rehashing the same ground. They'd talked to everybody involved in the other missing persons cases, and Morgan and Rossi had even taken weekends to travel and talk to the local people involved. Nothing new turned up. In frustration, they finished lunch and headed back inside.

The air conditioned offices felt good after the warmth of the outside patio, and the team settled into work on what was for them, an unusually quiet afternoon. All except for JJ who had a meeting before she got back to her office.

On her way back from the meeting, she glanced into the bullpen, and was amused at the quiet in the normally chaotic room. Then her eyes fell on Spencer Reid's desk, neat and tidy. It was never that way when he was working. It was usually a reflection of his fast moving brain. They had left his things on it, waiting for him. It was one battle over Reid that Hotch had won with Strauss. She hadn't had a prayer.

Ducking back into her office, she began to work, wading through her email. She worked methodically, reading the title, and opening the files, and sending them to be made into hard copy files for her to examine. She was so into her routine that it took her a moment to realize what the pictures were when they came up as she worked through her queue. Freezing, she just stared, then grabbed her cell phone, and punched in a group message. Once that was done, numbed, she dropped the phone and waited and stared longer.

One thing could be said for the BAU team, they didn't waste time when called on an emergency – even if it was only to JJ's office. They arrived together, Gideon included, who had been talking to Hotch and Rossi and happened to still be at the office. They all crowded into JJ's office.

"What, JJ?" Hotch demanded.

"What's the emergency?" Rossi was asking at the same time.

JJ still couldn't speak. Wordlessly, she turned the computer screen around so they could all see it. The babble ceased as they took in what she'd seen. On the screen, opened through the basic email she'd received, were pictures of Reid.

"BAU room, now," Hotch barked. "Garcia?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Get those pictures up on the big screen now," Hotch instructed, leading the way to the main conference room.

It was only moments that the pictures were up on the big screen and they were silently looking at them, taking in their first view of their friend in months.

The first black and white picture was of Reid leaning against the doorway of open doorway. He looked casual and comfortable, a cup of coffee in his hand, and a cat, of all things, slung over his shoulder looking interestedly at the coffee.

The second was clearly the same room, only this time Reid was slouched in an arm chair reading, one stocking foot on an ottoman that was also housing a chess board in play, and clearly petting the cat that was ensconced on his lap.

The third showed him standing at a tiny counter, working with a fancy coffee maker.

And finally, the fourth and last showed him at a small table, glasses on, working on a laptop. Unfortunately it was turned away from the camera.

"Ok, first picture, what do you see?" Gideon demanded.

"It's Reid, he's okay!" Garcia managed to murmur.

"Emotion later, focus now. First impressions. Go," Hotch instructed.

Prentiss took a deep breath, mentally steadying herself. "It's summer, he's wearing lightweight khakis and a polo shirt, no socks or shoes in the first picture."

"Good," Gideon said, crossing his arms and staring at the picture. "What else?"

"It looks like an odd shaped room, but the picture is taken in such a way that we can't see what's outside the doorway, except a little bit of a lounge chair. A patio or deck maybe?" Morgan added.

"The photographer doesn't want to give us clues as to where Reid is," Rossi elaborated on Morgan's statement. "And the way Reid is looking, I don't think he knew a picture was being taken."

"Same with all four pictures," Hotch added.

"It's the same room every time, but his clothes are different," JJ started.

"So he's always in the same place, just different times, and the camera always shows the same part of the room. It's a mounted camera, and doesn't move. Maybe hidden in a wall?" Prentiss finished.

After than, deductions came thick and fast.

"The unsub wants us to believe he's comfortable." Again from Prentiss.

"That fits with the pattern, that the unsub is taking brilliant minds that he feels are being misused by 'normal' people. He's trying to show us that Reid is better off with him than with us." Hotch this time.

"He's a collector." Gideon's statement froze them all cold. "A bastardized variation. He's collecting people, not objects."

In the moment of silence, Hotch turned away from the pictures and toward the group. "Garcia, get copies of these to each of us. Everybody, study them. Mine them for any information that you can. Garcia, see if you can enhance them for hidden details. And trace that email! Everybody, this is all you do today. If Strauss questions it, send her to me. We'll meet again in three hours. Go!"

The team disbursed, and went to work.

CM CM CM CM CM

When the team met three hours later, they were full of minutia. The photos had been enhanced, but nothing useful of the room's location could be gathered. They could see Reid was apparently healthy, that the cat was healthy, and that the room looked comfortable. But they couldn't see anything else.

Gideon had recognized the coffee mug missing the apartment, and a couple of the books as well. They now had proof that the missing items from Reid's apartment were with him, where ever he was. But still, no concrete proof that he wasn't missing voluntarily.

The email addresses the pictures had come from was a dead end as well. Apparently it had been set up and used only once; to send the pictures. It was a generic name, and the residence listed was Reid's apartment. Garcia dug into the servers, and discovered it had been setup at an internet café. Pulling any type of security camera around the café had just shown the back of a figure. It was too generic to be able to tell if it were a man or a woman.

Disappointed, the group looked forlornly at each other.

"Damn, this guy is good," Prentiss muttered.

"I'll say," JJ agreed.

"We do know one thing," Hotch pointed out.

"What's that?" Morgan inquired.

"Reid is alive." Hotch answered concisely.

Relieved nods followed that statement

"And if the unsub is a collector, Reid is likely to stay that way, as long as he plays along," Rossi commented.

"Reid's brilliant. He'll figure out a way to stay alive," Gideon added.

Another pause, then Rossi spoke up again. "Still not enough for Erin to change her mind, though."

"No. She'll just see that Reid sent us some pictures of himself to get us to back off," Hotch agreed.

"But there is one good thing," Gideon stated. "We're putting pressure on the unsub. He's trying to get us to back off. He's never broken silence before."

Again, thoughtful nods all around.

"There isn't anybody who had kept looking for any of the others," Morgan pointed out.

Jason nodded, continuing. "Just keep at it. We may not think that we're making headway, but we clearly are. We keep doing what we're doing."

CM CM CM CM CM

Gideon's words became patently clear when on a storm day in early November when he retrieved the mail. Closing himself back in Reid's apartment, he sorted through the junk mail, discarding it without thought, and came across a 5 x 7 padded envelope that felt unusually heavy. Studying it quizzically, he saw that it was addressed to him, at Reid's address, and that the return address was also Reid's. Suddenly, Gideon felt a pounding in his ears, in time with his pulse, and he just knew this was it. This was the piece that would lead them to Reid.

Dropping the envelope to the counter, he grabbed a clean pillow case from the linen cupboard, and a pair of latex gloves from the box that Reid kept around. Putting the pillow case down on the counter, the donned the gloves, then carefully opened the envelope over the linen in order to catch any trace evidence that fell. He shook the envelope's contents out onto the sheet. With a sinking heart, Gideon knew exactly what it was.


	9. Part 2 Go Team section 6

A Gossamer Cage

Part Two - GO TEAM! (2.6)

* * *

Less than half an hour after Gideon received the package, the team was gathered in the BAU conference room, and Jason was among them. Hotch walked into the quiet room and looked at his team. Gideon was staring at the big screen, one arm crossed across his body, the other hand supporting his chin in a thoughtful manner as he studied the display. It was a pose that Hotch had seen often over the years.

The rest of the team was no less intense. He recognized the posture of each and every one of them. They were focused, worried, and in turn, finally hopeful. As he entered the room, they all turned and looked at him expectantly.

Hotch didn't make them wait. "We are now officially on Reid's case full time. Chief Strauss has given her approval to work on this exclusively. She has made it clear that we are not to work on anything else until we find him."

There weren't any cheers of triumph, or any type of celebration at this news that they'd wanted so long to hear. Instead, they all turned to stare back at the screen once again. The contents of the envelope Jason had received were displayed, magnified several times. On it, Reid's FBI credentials, flipped open so his shield and his identification were showing. Across the plastic face of the ID card, the word 'RETIRED' was scrawled in large red letters written by a permanent ink pen. Next to the credentials, a piece of stationary paper that had been folded in fourths and found inside the folio was now open, and written in large, angry letters, clearly by the same hand and, with what appeared to be the same pen, was the word, "MINE!" The anger and emotion with which that single word had been scrawled were abundantly clear.

Hotch's voice broke the concentration again. "The lab will have the analysis to us in 45 minutes."

"Hopefully we can get something this time," Rossi commented.

"At least Strauss finally believes," Morgan muttered.

JJ spoke softly. "I hope it's not 'too little, too late'."

CM CM CM CM

The team had fallen back to silence after mining the picture for anything it would tell them. They were sitting quietly, waiting, in the BAU room when Agent Anderson came in with an envelope a scant 38 minutes later. Hotch stood and took it from him, nodding his thanks. Anderson backed out of the room as Hotch tore open the envelope and quickly scanned the contents. He looked up at his waiting team.

"I think we may have something. Garcia?"

Garcia sat up straight, her eyes wide. It looked like this was going to be all on her.

CM CM CM CM

Smiling, Garcia turned from her computer to the group of anxious people crowded into her little room. "I've got it." She didn't even pause for a breath. "The stationary the note was written on was unique. It a very heavy type of paper, the kind used back in the early 1900s for invitations and that kind of thing. The very old families on the East Coast and in the Deep South all used it. High Society type stuff. Each family had their own paper made, and each had their own unique watermarks. The family wouldn't use anything else. Any type of correspondence was written on 'their' own paper. A lot of the old families still use it in some cases. Especially those of the older generations. They would have their own engraved stationary made on the paper."

Morgan broke Garcia off gently. "Baby girl, I appreciate the lesson, but you don't have to be Reid. Just find him."

"Huh," Garcia snorted, somewhat amused. "I'm getting there. This paper has an individual family watermark."

"Can you trace it?" Hotch asked, arms crossed.

"Can, and did. It belongs to the Cummings family of New York. Most of the line has died out, and as near as I can see, there is only one remaining direct descendant. Harold Phillip Cummings the 4th. Unfortunately, he didn't leave anything as crass as fingerprints or DNA on the paper or Reid's credentials, but the watermark may as well have been. It is unique. Anyway," Garcia paused, fingers flying over her keyboards, and eyes following screens that flashed from one view to another. "Harold was born in 1950, and from what I can find, he's a recluse. He has always been very quiet, and was something of a scholar. It appears he was different from the rest of his family who essentially drank and partied themselves to death. He never married." Garcia continued tapping on her keyboard as she dug. "It also appears that although there is plenty of property belonging to the family, or well, him now, his primary residences are in New York City, Portland, Maine, and Washington DC."

"What?" Demanded Morgan as Garcia caught her breath.

"Yes. It appears that he has been a very generous doner to the projects that our other missing geniuses were involved in. He actually met with Dr. Stanton and Peter Guenther about a year before each disappeared.

"That's it. It's him," Morgan said slapping the table.

"Is it enough?" Prentiss asked Hotch.

Garcia growled from the desk, "Give me a couple more minutes, and I'll get you enough. An ordinary minion probably couldn't find anything, but I'm not ordinary, nor are my babies." Garcia gave her computer a pat and then dug in once again.

She was as good as her word. Within fifteen minutes, she'd dug up more links. Travel to the locations of the missing and other circumstantial evidence that taken together, painted a clear picture.

"We got him," Hotch said, a tight smile on his face. "Let's get a warrant."

CM CM CM CM

JJ. Prentis, Garcia, Morgan and Gideon stood on staring into the one way glass window, intent on the interrogation going on in the room on the other side. Hotch and Rossi were in the room with Harold Cummings the 4th, a sixty year old, unexceptional looking man. Dressed in an understated tailored suit, with receding gray hair, he was unremarkable in every way.

"Why have you brought me here?" he was asking calmly.

Rossi's eyebrows rose. "I thought you'd figured that out, what with your note and all."

"I'm sorry?" Harold removed his glasses and looked inquiringly at the agent. "What note?"

"And you stayed in Washington DC to see the effect," Rossi continued. "I have to say, I was surprised to find you so close. I thought you'd have been farther out afield and not so close to the action. You don't seem like a hands-on kind of guy."

"I beg your pardon, but I really don't know what you're talking about," Harold asked quizzically, looking inquiringly at both agents.

Hotch was standing, looking more inscrutable than ever, arms crossed, stern faced. Rossi sat at the table across from Cummings, leaning forward, his elbows on the table, fingers linked.

"Why are you in Washington DC?" Rossi asked directly instead of answering the question.

"I have an apartment here. I was doing some research at the library of Congress and the Smithsonian."

"Really. What kind of research?" Rossi inquired.

"I was looking into some of the more esoteric political encounters of the 1850s."

"Right. You're a scholar, aren't you? Must have been difficult, considering your family. I remember hearing that your grandparents were quite the swingers in the 1920s, and that they, your parents, AND your siblings, all died early and unpleasant deaths from, shall we say, excesses?"

Cummings mouth tightened, but he didn't say anything.

"It must have been hard, being the black sheep of the family, nobody understanding you, and watching them piss away the fortune."

Cummings just looked directly at Rossi, silently daring him to say more.

"Is that why you took such an interest in the work of actual, verifiable, geniuses? You felt you could spare them some of what you felt. Hate to tell you, you aren't that smart," Rossi pushed.

"No, I'm not," Cummings finally said with a slightly condescending smile. "But I'm smart enough to know that the people who are true geniuses need to be supported in their work. They change the world. But how shortsighted are the normal people." He shook his head sadly.

"Shortsighted? Kind of like your family?" Rossi asked. "I've read the articles. Seen what your siblings and parents said about the 'disappointment' of their family, and your lack of athletic and social graces. They ignored what you were good at, and the papers you wrote. They considered you of lesser value. So is that why you did it?"

"Did what, Agent Rossi?"

Rossi went on to outline the connections between Cummings and the missing men, and then waited for his answer.

"You think I had something to do with their disappearances? I'm flattered you think me that brilliant, but no, my visits to them were to support their work. I'm sorry they disappeared without finishing their pursuits."

"You think it was brilliant?" Rossi inquired.

"Well, of course. Clearly that individual has been leading you around blindly for some time."

"Huh." Rossi paused, then asked. "But what about Dr. Spencer Reid?"

"Dr. Spencer Reid? I've read his work. Brilliant. He is part of the FBI, and of your unit, is he not?"

"Reid is missing. Has been for almost a year. And we can link you with him by way of your families custom paper," Rossi said emphatically.

Cummings laughed. "Really. How interesting. Considering I have that stationary at all of my residences, and any of my staff has access to it, I'm not sure what that means. But tell me, how did you manage to misplace Dr. Reid? I imagine that you must be missing him terribly. It must be incredibly difficult to solve cases without him. Or did he just tire of doing all the work and leave you to it all on your own?"

The interrogation went on for another half hour with Hotch questioning, then Rossi again.

"Damn," Gideon said quietly.

"He's not going to crack," Prentiss commented.

"Do you think he's our guy?" JJ asked.

"Yes," Gideon answered. "Absolutely."

Morgan nodded. "But he's really cagey. He hasn't gotten away with this for this long without being good, and it took us a damned long time to find him. This isn't going to be easy."

"Can we hold him?" JJ asked, concerned.

"Yes, for 72 hours," Morgan nodded, as Hotch and Rossi stepped out of the interrogation room.

The rest of the team moved into the hall to meet them.

"Take him back to his cell," Hotch was telling the guards, then turned with the rest of the team and headed through security and towards the elevators.

CM CM CM CM CM

Forty five minutes after the interrogation, the two SUVs were back at Quantico, and the team was gathering in the BAU room to debrief.

"Well, that went well," Rossi sardonically commented.

"Garcia, can you get the pictures of Reid that he emailed up on the big screen?" Hotch asked the tech analyst.

"Consider it done," she replied, tapping away on the computer.

Gideon picked up the plastic bag with Reid's credentials absently. "Cummings isn't going to confess."

"Are you sure?" Morgan asked.

"Yes. He'll want to make sure that if he can't have Reid, nobody else will."

Prentiss added thoughtfully, "He was making sure that we would blame ourselves. His comments about Reid leaving so he wouldn't have to do all the work . . ." she trailed off.

Morgan nodded. "You're right." He thought a moment, then his expression changed to that of concern. "This guy believes he's saving Reid. And not just saving him, but saving him _from us_. The last thing he'd want to do is let Reid be found. And especially by this team. He'd literally die before he'd lead us to him. He'd think it would be the last good thing he could do, even if that meant Reid dying. He'd consider Reid better off, than having to live an unappreciated life."

The group all looked at each other as they digested that thought.

Rossi spoke up. "Then that means, if he thinks that he can still 'save' Reid, then he'd most likely . . ."

". . . try to commit suicide and cut off the last link for us to find him," Hotch finished, reaching urgently for the phone.

Horror replaced the thoughtful expressions, as the truth of that statement hit home for each person in the room.

Hotch was demanding to speak with the head of security at the facility where Cummings was being held. Once connected, he began to speak, then stopped, listening. Finally, he commented, "How did this happened?" Then he listened some more.

Finally Hotch hung up the phone and turned to his team. "The head of security was just picking up the phone to call me. Cummings committed suicide 20 minutes ago. He hung himself with the sheets."

"Shit," muttered Morgan distinctly.

There was a moment of silence as they all digested the turn their investigation had taken. Cummings was gone, now how were they going to find Reid?

"Okay, everyone, let's go over it all again. Garcia, get a list of any properties that Cummings, or the family trust owns currently."

"Do you think he'd be that obvious?" JJ asked.

"Only if he thought we'd never find him," Morgan commented.

"And we wouldn't have found him if he hadn't gotten careless and angry," Gideon said. "I agree with Hotch. We look at the properties."

Garcia, who had sat down and began searching, piped up. "There are tons of properties, owned both by Cummings and the Estate both in the US and in Europe. We need to narrow it down."

"He'd want him close. Try US, and probably east coast," Rossi instructed.

"Guys?" Prentiss said slowly, staring at the picture of Reid standing at the doorway which had been put up on the big screen. She'd been looking at it absently as she thought. "Look at this." She moved towards the screen and started tracing the lines of the odd shaped room Reid stood in. "Is it me, or is this room a really odd shape?"

"You're right," JJ observed. "It reminds me of my Grandmother's Victorian house."

"Uh-huh," Prentiss said again. "Like an attic."

"Garcia, look for properties with Victorian homes," Hotch instructed.

"I have three that fit."

"Serious?" Morgan asked, stunned. "That fast?"

"I am the goddess," Garcia muttered absently, staring at her computer.

"Where?" Hotch inquired, ignoring the byplay.

"One in Atlanta, one in Boston, and one in Maine."

"Atlanta and Boston are well populated cities," Gideon commented. "It would be hard to keep somebody long periods in an attic without anybody noticing. A basement maybe, but an attic? Where in place in Maine?"

Garcia started at her screen again. "On a tiny island off the South Coast. It's a private island, owned by the Cummings estate, and only accessible by boat."

"That's it," Gideon said.

"We may have time for only one shot at this," Rossi commented. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Gideon said firmly.

"Ok, let's go!" Hotch led his team out of the conference room in a rush.

CM CM CM CM

The helicopters set down on a windswept field on a tiny rocky island on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. The island was a rocky outcropping about a mile off the coast of Maine, surrounded by treacherous rocks and difficult seas. The house, a Victorian that had once been bright blues and lavenders, was now graying and fading into the rocks, the hardy grasses that surrounded it, and the overcast sky. It was hard to believe that anybody had every wanted to live out here. However, on the ride over, they'd seen a boat moorage that was updated and in good repair on the north side of the island, and there were several places that would be suitable for landing a helicopter.

"Remember, the room looked like an attic. And be careful. We don't know what's here," Hotch yelled over the rising wind. Nods all around.

Directing his team, they left the choppers and split around the house for entry. It didn't take long for the doors to be breached, and the floors cleared. The main floor and the second floor were clearly lived in, and there was a large room on the Third floor completely devoted to computer and surveillance equipment. They all ended up together on the landing at the top of the stairs on the third floor.

"Nothing!" Prentiss said in frustration, holstering her gun. "Nobody's here."

"But Cummings has been here a lot," Morgan pointed out.

"True, but the power out here is by generator, and it's off, and has been for a week or two," Rossi added. "Looks like it ran out of fuel."

"No, he's been busy with us in Virginia," Gideon said shortly, looking around in frustration. "It's his failsafe. If he doesn't come back, his captive dies."

"Guys," Morgan got their attention. "We haven't found any door to the attic."

"You're right. Everybody, check the ceilings, closets, anything. We're not up to the roof yet," Hotch directed.

The team split up and began to painstakingly search, opening doors and inspecting every place they could. In the end, it was Morgan who found it.

"Guys! I've got something!"

"What is it?" Hotch hurried up to the other agent.

Morgan was leaning in an opening like a window in the wall, and craning his neck up. "Not sure, but there looks to be something blocking the entrance up there."

Prentiss pushed him aside and leaned in and craned her neck upwards. "It's a dumbwaiter. A way to get food up from the kitchen to the upper floors."

JJ hurried up to the group. "I found what looks like the original entrance to the attic. The door is bolted and locked by a padlock and a serious electronic lock as well. It won't move until the power's back on, and we'll still need the combination."

"Well this looks to be the quickest," Morgan said, reaching up and beginning to pull back the beams that held the dumbwaiter in place.

"Careful," Hotch advised.

Morgan nodded as he freed the dumbwaiter and carefully began to lower it down. Once it was past the opening, he looked up again. "I think it's clear."

"Give me a boost," Hotch pushed past Morgan into the narrow entry way. Morgan snorted, and cupped his hands, allowing his boss to step into them and reach for the upper opening. It only took a moment, and Hotch was disappearing through the upper opening. It seemed forever until they heard Hotch's voice floating back down to them.

"It's Reid, and he's alive!"

* * *

Next Up: Part 3 - Battle

NOTE: I have no idea if the information about the paper and the watermarks is true or not. It just was a good premise to hang the story on, and the kind of mistake Cummings would make. Consider it artistic license.


	10. Part 3 Battle section 1

A Gossamer Cage

Part 3 – Battle (3.1)

NOTE: This takes place immediately following Part 2.

Hotch felt like he'd aged years by the time he was finally able to pull out his cell phone and call the team. Waving an acknowledgement to Jason as the older man headed off to Reid's room, Hotch located a quiet corner of the ICU waiting room in the Level 1 trauma hospital at Portland, Maine, where he could safely used his cell phone.

Hitting Rossi's speed dial number, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples for a moment leaning against the cool window. Finally, opening his eyes, he looked out on the wet November landscape from the quiet anteroom, one of several just off the ICU unit. It took longer than it should have for the phone to be picked up, and even then, it wasn't Rossi, it was Morgan. Hotch was tired enough to have to take a moment to think it through.

"Morgan? What are you doing with Dave's phone?"

"Rossi is tied up with the lead officer from the State Patrol. But we've been waiting for your call, so he tossed it to me. Hotch, we may have found a body. We're waiting for the medical examiner now," Morgan finished quietly.

Hotch just sighed, feeling his headache grow exponentially. "Okay. What else have you found?"

"Hotch, come on man, have a heart. How's Reid? You've been gone for like 14 hours. We haven't heard a word, and we're thinking the worst here."

"I'm sorry, Morgan," Hotch said, truly apologetic. "First, Reid will be fine. But it was pretty close. He's hypothermic, and his blood sugar is basically non-existent, and he's dehydrated. The helicopter took us to the hospital in Camden, where they stabilized him. Then they life-flighted him to the trauma center in Portland. He's in the ICU now under a warming blanket, with IVs of warm saline and glucose. However, they now tell us he will be fine."

Hotch heard the sigh of relief from Morgan, then his voice, muted as he turned away, catching the rest of the team up on Hotch's report. "That's good news. Has he told you anything yet?"

"He's not awake yet. His doctor told us that he should be waking up soon, but he's going to be somewhat disoriented, so not to expect a lot. He should become coherent pretty quickly after that, though."

"And the cat?"

Hotch shook his head a moment, trying to comprehend what Morgan was saying. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The cat. The big Siamese thing that was curled up with Reid that you insisted on taking as well."

Hotch could hear the laughter in Morgan's voice. After all that had happened in the last 24 hours, any laughter was good, even if it was at his expense. "Yeah, yeah. I'm operating on an adrenaline crash right now, so laugh while you can. Yes, the cat is fine. It's at the animal hospital in Camden. Basically, it's in better shape than Reid is, that's for sure."

"Good. So what's the plan?"

"I'm going to stay here until Reid's awake. Then, I'm coming back to you. Jason will stay with Reid. How bad are things out there?"

"Bad. The body is buried right out back of the house in the field. Right below the attic window."

Hotch didn't need Morgan to say what they were both thinking. Right in Reid's sightline. He bit back a sigh. That would be devastating to the young man when he found out. If he didn't know already. "ID?"

"We'll need DNA to be conclusive, but Cummings seems to have tapes of everything, so I'm pretty sure it's one of our missings. And my guess? We'll find the other two, probably close by, AND tapes of them once we wade through all the video. And the attic? Man, that place is a fortress. Bars on the windows, on the balcony, everything. Nobody who got in there was getting out. The door on the third floor opened to a stairwell, then to a secret door behind the bookcase. It was barred with a heavy beam. Old school, but efficient. And another thing, we're going to need Garcia out here to go through all this electronic stuff. The room is packed to the rafters with the latest gear."

"Do it. Have her pick up go-bags for everybody. Make sure she picks up one for Jason and Reid as well. Have her stop by here and drop them off for us. And Morgan?"

"Yeah."

"We need to know what happened to Reid. Let the state police process the house. Concentrate on anything that has to do with Reid. We have to know what was going on while he was there."

"Amen to that. How long before we see you?"

"That depends on how long it takes Reid to wake up."

"Give him our best."

"Of course. See you soon."

Hotch hung up and rubbed his temples again. One body. Probably two more. One found drowned. And Reid was still living. How in God's name did he manage to stay alive? All Hotch could do was be grateful that he was.

CM CM CM CM CM

The first thing that registered was the noise. Voices, footsteps, pens moving on paper, the click-whirr-beep of equipment, the tapping of a keyboard, doors opening and closing, the murmur of low voices. It all felt loud and raw to him. He could feel himself tense at the onslaught and moved his head so he could shut out the noise.

"Hotch."

A low, gruff (familiar?) voice spoke next to him and it made him jump. It was close, too close. Reid clenched his eyes shut, trying to get back the quiet.

"Is he awake?" Hotch's familiar tone sounded off in the distance.

"Getting there," the familiar, but unplaced voice (too close!) sounded again.

Reid could hear a low moan, and suddenly realized it was himself. Sensations returned. The scratch on the back of his hand that identified an IV. Soft sheets against his skin. The taste of oxygen and feel of the canula on under his nose.

"Easy Spencer. Just give yourself a moment," the voice urged quietly. Then louder, "Hotch, close the door."

Reid started as a hand touched his shoulder lightly. "Easy, Spencer. It's okay, you're safe."

Safe? He'd been safe before. With Hal. He concentrated on slowing down his breathing. It became easier as a door shut and the world muted. Unbidden, his eyes opened, focusing slowly as the outside stimuli died down.

It took a few moments to take everything in, but even then, it didn't really compute. The hospital room wasn't unexpected, nor was Hotch, standing at the foot of his bed, looking familiar in his suit, tie and impeccable jacket, with his arms crossed, looking down at him seriously. Those were fine. But Jason Gideon, sitting next to his bed, leaning forward expectantly in his chair, finger touching as his hands lay loosely in his lap wasn't normal. Reid shut his eyes then opened them again, but Gideon was still there.

"How are you feeling?" Hotch's question broke Reid's stare. He looked up at his supervisor (well, past supervisor) and thought about the question.

"Reid?" Hotch prompted.

Spencer wasn't sure how to answer. He wanted his attic back. The peace and quiet and the sound of the breakers on the rocks below.

"Stay with us, Spencer," Gideon's voice broke into his reverie, making him realize he'd shut his eyes again without knowing it.

He forced his eyes open and managed to look at Gideon. Hotch had unfolded his arms and bent down, supporting himself on the footboard and the bed in order to make eye contact with Reid.

"We got him, Reid. You're safe now."

Hotch seemed to be waiting for some reaction, so Reid just nodded. He didn't feel safe. He'd felt safer in the attic.

Hotch and Gideon exchanged glances. "You're going to be fine, Reid. Just dehydration and lack of food," Hotch continued. "You're in a hospital, in the ICU."

Reid nodded his understanding again.

"Spencer, look at me." Gideon's voice drew his attention, and he looked at the older man. He was here, but he couldn't be. Gideon was gone. He'd left a letter, and he'd gone. Reid was confused. What was real?

Gideon (real?) gave him a small smile and said, "Go back to sleep."

Spencer just nodded once again and closed his eyes. Maybe the world would make sense again when he woke up.

CM CM CM CM

Hotch and Gideon watched as Reid dropped quickly back to sleep. After a moment, they exchanged a resigned, slightly concerned look. Finally Hotch spoke. "Well, Dr. Hanley did say that he'd probably be in and out for awhile until his blood-sugar leveled out."

Jason nodded noncommittally. It wasn't said, but they both thought it was more than that.

Hotch finally sighed. "I'd better go call Strauss."

"Good idea. I'll stay here. Did Garcia bring my go-bag when she came? I could use a change of clothes. Reid will need his as well." He glanced up at his friend.

Aaron raised his eyebrows. "It's here. Reid's and mine as well. Not planning on leaving anytime soon, I see."

"I'm retired," Jason shrugged noncommittally. "I can't think of a better place to be."

Hotch relaxed visibly. "You've relieved my mind."

Gideon returned his eyes to his young charge. "I told you. I don't make the same mistake twice." He looked back up at Hotch. "Get back to the house with the team. They need you. I'll keep you posted."

Hotch nodded with a slight smile, and left the room quietly, convinced that Reid couldn't be in better hands.

CM CM CM CM

The next morning, Hotch stepped of the chopper onto the windswept field and looked directly at the graves that were being unearthed in the lee of the house. The single body was now three. They were in various stages of excavation, with tarps sheltering from the wind and intermittent rain. Leaning against the wind, he made his way past the forensics crew, busy with their tasks. Pausing a moment, he could see the bodies, slowly being uncovered, in varying stages of decomposition. Sometimes it really sucked to be right.

Hotch quickly made his way into the rambling house, and following his ears, up to the surveillance room on the third floor. There he found his team, quiet and looking grim, arrayed around the many computers.

Garcia was the first to notice him. "Sir!"

"How is it going, Garcia?" he asked.

"This is not my happy place," she announced emphatically. "And it's a good thing this creep is dead, otherwise I'd kill him myself."

A grimly muttered "Stand in line" was heard from Prentiss, who was searching a laptop at the other end of the long room. Hotch noted absently that the room seemed to run the length of the attic, and was directly beneath it. Just thinking of Cummings in this room, like the puppet master and Reid trapped above, made his skin crawl.

"Have you backed up everything you can?" Hotch ignored Prentiss, and concentrated on Garcia. The sooner she did her job, the quicker they could all leave, and it looked to him that the team felt sooner was definitely better than later.

"Almost." She looked up at him beseechingly. "Sir, what this man did . . ."

Hotch felt his headache coming back. "Tell me a quick summary. We'll go over it more back at the office."

"Aaron," Rossi's quiet voice interrupted him and he turned from his desk. "First things first. How is Reid?"

He'd called as soon as Reid had woken up, so they were aware. But Hotch had managed to hang out at the hospital just long enough to see him wake up again. He'd been more coherent this time and he was glad to tell the team good news.

"He woke up again just before I left. He's not really sure what's going on or how he ended up at the hospital. Jason will fill him in as he gets stronger. But he was able to tell us that he went to bed that Friday night we got back from Texas, woke up about 2am. Everything was fine. When he woke up Saturday morning, he was here. And he hasn't been out of that attic since," he finished bitterly.

Morgan took a deep breath to control his simmering anger from boiling over. "He didn't have anybody to talk to at all? Besides that nut job Cummings?"

"No," Hotch informed them. "And he said that he never saw Cummings. Just heard his voice."

"We've seen that," JJ put in. "There are hours and hours of conversations between Cummings and Reid. And, between Cummings and the other missings. He kept them here as well."

"The bodies?" Hotch asked briefly.

"Yes," Morgan nodded. "There is a timeline. He took each like he did Reid. Kept them. But something always happened. He'd wait awhile, then he'd go get the next one. The guy who drowned? He threw himself off the balcony. After that the bars were added. We don't know about the others yet. But this guy had cameras on them 24/7. We'll know."

"Hotch, does Reid know about the others?" Prentiss asked.

Hotch shook his head. "I doubt it. Not unless Cummings had told him. He didn't act like he had. We'll know what he knows when we see the tapes."

"He hasn't told you?" Rossi asked, surprised.

"He's not in any shape to. He's spiked a fever last night, so he's sleeping a lot. That's why I stayed."

"But there's more to it than that, isn't there?" Rossi asked perceptively.

"Yes," Hotch signed. "There is. He's really quiet. Very un-Reid like. Part of it can be chalked up to the isolation, but it's more than that. It's like he's walled himself off. Jason sees it too."

"Well, he was really productive while he was here. You should see the papers and articles in the attic. It's amazing," JJ commented.

Rossi, who had remained quiet through the exchange, studied Hotch with narrowed eyes. "Does Reid see this as a rescue, or an interruption?" he finally asked carefully.

"What?" Morgan snorted. "Rossi, you can't be serious!"

"Oh, I am. Think about it from Reid's point of view. He didn't have anything to do except study and research and explore. No deadlines, nobody pushing him, no teasing, and above all, no interruptions. That's heaven for somebody with a mind like Spencer's. And I've got to tell you, that attic looks like a pretty damned nice place to spend time."

Everybody had startled looks in varying degrees of shock at the thought. All but Hotch.

"I know, Dave. That's what I'm afraid of. And Reid isn't talking."


	11. Part 3 Battle section 2

A Gossamer Cage

Part 3 – Battle (3.2)

Reid felt like he was in a kaleidoscope. Everything was turning and he was constantly shifting, not sure where he was. He remembered the attic, and he was pretty sure he remembered talking to Hotch a couple of times. And Gideon? That couldn't be real. Gideon had left without a word to anybody. Just taken off. He gave himself a mental shake. No sense getting riled up about it again. It was in the past.

"Shut the damned door!" Gideon's voice growled close to him, shifting the kaleidoscope on its end once again and taking Reid with it. He curled up tighter, trying to find his balance and get right side up again. A door swished shut, taking noise with it, and Reid was pretty sure he'd done this before.

"Sorry, Spencer," Gideon's voice said again, this time the unreality was grounded by a hand touching his shoulder.

Reid shot bolt upright at the touch, making his head spin again, opening eyes that he hadn't realized were closed, and looking around in shock. It was then that he realized that he couldn't remember the last time he was touched.

"Easy, Spencer, it's just me. Easy."

Reid's wide eyes swung around to see Jason sitting next to him, hands up in the classic 'I mean no harm' pose. He stared for a moment, unblinking. Then asked, shaken, "Gideon?"

An easy half smile lightened Gideon's face as he lowered his hands, and relaxed back into the chair. "Me. I'm Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Reid lay back exhausted. And puzzled. "I thought I heard you. What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you to wake up. Again. Do you remember waking up earlier?"

Reid thought about it and finally shrugged.

Gideon nodded at the wordless answer. "Your doctor said you'd be in and out for awhile. Do you remember Hotch being here?"

Reid nodded again. He did remember that. He remembered being told he was safe. He still didn't know safe from what, and he was starting to get tired again. And more than that, he didn't remember anything since the freezing attic, and essentially, now. "Where is Hotch now? Did he bring some clothes?"

Jason looked thoughtfully at the visibly tiring Reid. The question wasn't particularly interesting in itself, it was more the questions that Spencer wasn't asking. So instead of getting into why Reid wasn't asking 'how did you find me', he just answered what was asked.

"Garcia brought go-bags for all of us. She came in to see you, then headed out to the house. Hotch stayed another night here with you and left this morning."

Again, it was Reid's lack of asking the obvious question 'What house' that worried Jason. All Reid did was just nod, and shut his eyes. Gideon watched him fall asleep again with ill-concealed concern. Clearly something was very wrong. Well, they'd expected something to be off after being held in captivity for that long, but this was different. He'd just have to dig until he found out what.

CM CM CM CM

The next day or two found Reid getting stronger and more lucid by the hour. He was still spiking a fever, so he was still stuck in the hospital, much to his irritation. At least it wasn't the ICU anymore. He still slept a lot as well. But he found it odd that every time he woke up, Gideon was beside him. Sometimes reading, sometimes watching TV, sometimes sleeping, but always there.

Reid was beginning to get used to the low level of noise that seemed to be unending. More often than not, he wished for the quiet attic with the sound of the ocean below. He still was uncomfortable with anybody touching him, and he was grateful that Gideon managed to keep the door of his room shut the majority of the time. He felt less on edge when the common daily drone of white noise was diminished.

For his part, Gideon slowly fed Reid snippets of information. How he'd been found, where he'd been found, how hard the team had been looking for him, how difficult the search had been. What worried him was the lack of emotion in the young man, and the lack of curiosity. He sincerely hoped that Hotch and the others would find something back at the house. They needed to know what had happened. Then they could help Reid cope.

The only piece of information that seemed to spark any kind of an emotional response was when Gideon told Reid about Harold Cummings.

"Who?" Reid asked, perplexed.

"Cummings. The man who imprisoned you."

"Oh, you mean Hal." Reid sounded as unconcerned as if he'd been talking about Morgan.

Gideon blinked. "Hal?"

"Ah, yeah. That's what he told me to call him."

"When did you see him?" Gideon asked carefully.

Reid looked at the older man in surprise. "I didn't. Didn't I tell you that? I thought I did. He just talked to me. Got me what I needed, sent meals up, searched for the information I wanted since we didn't have internet access. He was a great research Librarian," Reid finished with an amused smile, looking openly at Gideon, wanting him to share his amusement.

Gideon's stomach did a slow, queasy roll. If Cummings hadn't been dead already, Jason could have cheerfully strangled him right on the spot. "Reid, Cummings, or Hal as you called him, held four other people captive in that room before you."

Reid looked at him like he was a particularly dense witness that they were trying to talk too. "Hal? No. I don't think so. I seriously doubt that."

"He kept you a prisoner."

Reid shrugged. "It wasn't that bad. He never laid a hand on me. He kept me safe."

"It was against your will," Jason pointed out gently.

Reid shrugged again, and plucked at his blanket, not looking at Gideon.

"Did you know that there had been others held in that attic before you?" Gideon asked carefully.

Reid steadfastly refused to make eye contact.

"Do you know what happened to the others before you?" Jason waited for a reaction.

Nothing. And Reid still wouldn't look at him.

Gideon sighed. "They died, Spencer. And you would have been next."

Reid finally looked up at Gideon, eyes blazing. "I don't believe you," he said flatly. And with that, the conversation was over. Reid turned over away from him, and pointedly closed his eyes.

Jason sat in silence, watching as the young man did actually fall asleep. He then texted Hotch to check the tapes for him to confirm what he'd concluded: that Hal had carefully and methodically eroded the trust Spencer had in his team.

When Hotch called him back an hour later, gave him a brief overview of the tapes they'd seen so far, and confirmed his suspicions, Gideon knew that what had just occurred between him and Spencer was sure to be just the opening salvo in what was sure to be a long war over how to interpret exactly what had taken place.

Jason hadn't been kidding when he'd told Hotch and Rossi that Reid would make their life miserable until he trusted them again. He just hadn't known how carefully Cummings had built the illusion that Reid was alone, with nobody who cared enough to look for him. And Gideon himself had provided strong evidence to that belief by leaving as he did. And with Reid's always precarious self-confidence? It hadn't taken a lot. And the months that it had taken for them to find him hadn't helped either. They had a battle in front of them, that was for sure.

CM CM CM CM CM

Gideon could see Reid through the open glass wall to his room as the young man unenthusiastically finished his lunch while he just as halfheartedly watched the news on TV. Jason smiled slightly at the sight while he looked over the discharge paperwork at the nurse's station outside Spencer's room. Reid was going to be able to go home tomorrow, as long as he stayed fever free. The nurse in front of him, patiently waiting while he read the forms, suddenly blinked and stilled. Jason looked up at her over his glasses, and then turned towards her gaze.

He gave an amused snort at the sight which had caught her attention. The elevator doors had opened and discharged the entire BAU team. Always a somewhat intimidating group, they looked to be a force to be reckoned with right now, in their enthusiasm to see their missing colleague. They blew down the hall, with Hotch in front of his troops, only marginally in control.

As Hotch stopped to talk to him at the counter, he lost any semblance of control as Morgan and Garcia barreled through all obstacles to get to Reid's room, with Prentis and JJ right on their heels. Rossi stopped with Hotch and Gideon and watched the others crowd into Reid's room with an amused expression.

Gideon watched carefully, concerned, as Reid tightened visibly at the onslaught, and then clearly steeled himself, sitting up with a tense half smile, letting the chaos swirl around him.

"Everything okay?" Hotch asked quietly.

Jason turned to look back to see both men looking at him expectantly.

"Not really. We've got a lot of work to do."

Hotch and Rossi nodded. Gideon had kept them updated regularly, as they had briefed him on what they had learned back at the house.

"Cummings was good, I have to give that to him," Rossi said quietly, watching the reunion in the other room.

Reid was still looking tense, Rossi thought, but honestly, that was how the young man had acted when Dave had first returned to the bureau, so it wasn't really that much of a stretch. The thing was, he'd been enthusiastic then, and he didn't show that same exuberance now.

He noticed Hotch and Gideon watching as well. "Well? Do we have a plan?"

Hotch shrugged slightly. "Get him into counseling with an FBI psychiatrist as soon as possible."

"Well, that's a given," Rossi snorted with considerable irony. "No, I mean, breaking that isolation, and getting him interacting again."

"I know what you meant," Hotch commented. "But I think that's just going to take time. The more we know, the more we can help. We'll be going through each and every one of those tapes. I'm assigning each person to one of the group that taken. Then we'll all compare notes."

Gideon nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. "Good plan. That will help. But this isn't going to be easy."

Both men nodded.

They watched silently as Morgan put an animal carrier up on Reid's bed, and opened it. The Siamese cat stepped out, clearly offended at having been imprisoned, and then made a beeline directly for Reid. They could hear the meowing from where they were standing, as the cat circled, tail up, and told the young man exactly what had been done to him, purring the whole time. Reid petted the cat, looking surprised and delighted to have his friend back.

The nurse made a displeased sound, and moved towards the room, only to be stopped by Gideon's touch on her arm.

"No, please."

She looked back at him. "But, we haven't cleared that animal. There needs to be vaccination records for visiting pets . . ."

"Please, it's already here, and it will be leaving shortly," Gideon said softly.

The nurse, noting the relaxed expression on Reid's face, melted visibly. She nodded, and then purposefully moved in the opposite direction, away from Reid and the cat and the roomful of people.

"First time he's looked like himself?" Rossi hazarded quietly.

Gideon just nodded.

The three men watched quietly from a distance until Morgan caught their attention.

"Hey, get in here!"

None of them missed the enthusiasm in Morgan's face as he waved them in or the wince from Reid at the yell. It was going to be a long road.

CM CM CM CM

The reunion had taken a lot out of Reid, and he'd slept most of the afternoon after the team left and headed home. It wasn't until dinner, and Gideon brought up the probability of Reid's being discharged the next day that another subject came up.

"Home?" Reid sounded honestly perplexed. "Where?"

Gideon looked surprised. "Your apartment. Where else?"

Reid's brow furrowed. "But, wasn't my apartment . . . I mean, didn't Hotch put my stuff in storage? What about, ah, the bills . . .?"

Jason's confusion cleared up. "Ah," he noted, understanding. "No. I've been living there. You're apartment is exactly the way you left it. Your things from the house went back with Morgan today. He promised to drop them off at your place before we got back."

Reid still looked puzzled. "We?"

"You didn't think you were going home alone, did you?" Gideon raised an eyebrow.

Reid wasn't sure what to think. Hal had told him that he'd get Reid's things, and he did. They'd talked about them being in storage. Maybe Hal had found them in his apartment and just didn't bother to say so. It made his head hurt to think about it, so he latched on to the latest surprise. "You're going to stay?"

"Yes," Gideon said simply, looking at him like that was a foregone conclusion.

"I can take care of myself," Reid commented. "I have been for a long time."

"I'm sure. But I like to cook, and the doctor has left a very specific menu for you to gain the weight back, so . . ." He just trailed off, spreading his hands. It made perfect sense.

Reid stared at him for a moment, looking for the hole. It didn't feel right, but it made sense, so he couldn't really argue. But he wasn't sure he liked the idea.


	12. Part 3 Battle section 3

A Gossamer Cage

Part 3 – Battle (3.3)

The surveillance cameras that Cummings had put on the attic were good, Hotch mused. Too good. The BAU team was able to see and hear everything from the time they had first been put in place nearly ten years earlier. The electronics had been updated over time, as well as the storage media. The team worked methodically cataloging first VHS tapes, then CDs and finally on to the digital media. Garcia had worked overtime getting everything into a digital format so they could study the details.

The final status meeting came a week or so after Reid's return home. Gideon was there, as they'd timed the meeting to coincide with one of Reid's psychiatric appointments, which in turn was followed by a physical therapy session. This gave Gideon a few hours free.

"Ok, we only have a couple of hours here, so be brief, but concise. We all need to understand. Everybody can access any of the tapes when you want to on your own time in order to catch up. I know you'll all want to see at least Reid's. But today is just a summary so we know what we're dealing with. Ok?" Hotch noted all the heads nodding agreement.

"Ok. We all know the basics. Cummings never interacted with his victims except verbally. They were isolated from all human contact. He sent food up, either raw supplies or hot meals. He provided everything for them so they could 'produce', and he felt he was doing them a favor by providing a space to work or create. He clearly felt that they were persecuted by the people around them, and that he was saving them from ridicule and the need to interact in the 'real' world Now we just need a specific overview on each of the victims. JJ. You first. You had the first victim."

JJ nodded, and started without preamble. "I had Willie Waters. He was the first. He showed up in the attic 10 years ago. The attic furniture was the same, colors, etc. But it was full of instruments."

She nodded at the big screen, and a screen capture of the video feed was shown. Instead of books, the room was full of instruments and music.

"Cummings talked to Willie, but the young man never answered much," JJ continued. It was almost like he didn't care where he was as long as he had music. The tapes are filled with stunning music, both new compositions and classical composers. The date stamp on the tapes show the time frame was nearly three years. It appears he died of starvation. The food just stopped coming. From the few conversations at the end, it was clear that Cummings was bored, and wanted interaction. I'm not sure Waters even noticed when the food stopped and the water was shut off."

There was a pause as she finished. "Unbelievable," Morgan muttered.

"Narcissistic, that's for sure," Rossi agreed.

"Prentiss, you had number two," Hotch directed.

"I had Dr. Edgar Stanton from MIT. This man was as disagreeable to Cummings as he was to his colleagues at the University. Cummings tried to engage him in conversation about his work, and Stanton would argue, browbeat, and condescend to Cummings."

"Bet that went well," Morgan said with considerable irony.

Gideon agreed. "With Cummings' ego, that would have only made him want to exert control."

Prentiss nodded. "And that's what he did. He became the epitome of the disembodied voice. He told Stanton that he was a distasteful, evil, worthless excuse for a human being, over and over and over. But the end, Stanton clearly thought Cummings was a voice in his head telling him how useless he was, and finally, threw himself off the balcony into the Atlantic Ocean."

Morgan picked up at that. "That must have been when the bars over the balcony went up. The windows had always been barred, but the balcony hadn't been until that point. The bars were there with my guy. I had Peter Amies. This kid was an amazing artist."

Hotch nodded and looked to Gideon, filling him in. "We found several folios and sketch books in the house. Just as we found all the evidence of the work of all the others as well."

"Quite a contribution to society," Rossi commented.

Hotch nodded. "It will be when the families release it."

"Remembered, accepted and acclaimed in death as they never were in life," Gideon commented.

Morgan nodded. "True. Anyway, this guy loved to draw, paint, sculpt, you name it. He was also incredibly well read, and a writer. And he loved to talk. He and Cummings discussed all kinds of writing styles, and works of literature and artists. The discussions alone were in a realm way beyond my knowledge. Reid was probably enjoy it," he added, with no lack of irony.

"He had this guy the longest," Rossi comment. "What finally happened?"

"I think Aimes finally realized that this wasn't a retreat, but that he was there for life. He'd been discussing a showing of his work with Cummings, who was all for it. Aimes finally realized that Cummings wasn't going to let him out for a showing, and that he probably wouldn't do the showing at all. And that Aimes wouldn't ever know the truth, _and_ that he'd never get any public feedback on his work at all. Ever."

"Death for an artist," Gideon said quietly.

"Exactly. For this one at least. Three years after being taken, he slit his wrists with his razor. Cummings' work at making that attic inaccessible backfired on him. His pet killed himself."

"I bet he didn't even try to stop him," Prentiss muttered darkly.

Morgan shook his head. "Nope, he didn't."

After a moment while the team digested this, Rossi spoke up. "I had Guenther Young. He was with Cummings for a year. He was like Reid. He knew everything."

"Eidetic memory?" Hotch asked.

"I would think so, but nothing was ever said. But I think both written and spoken. He was incredibly brilliant. He and Cummings would talk for hours about everything. But this young man was less than stable. He wasn't just socially awkward, like Reid can be, he was seriously introverted."

Morgan interrupted, "Reid's stronger than most people ever guess. And he's just awkward because he's young, and hasn't been given the chance to go through the normal maturing stages. He was dealing with an absent father, schizophrenic mother, and no peer support!"

Hotch was unusually gentle as he answered Morgan's vehement defense of their colleague. "We know that, Morgan. Nobody disagrees with you. But this is Young, not Reid."

Morgan subsided apologetically, and Rossi continued. "Cummings was clearly interested in his thoughts and his work. Young was a scientist. But he was specifically interested in chemistry. The attic was filled with chemicals and everything it took to explore them." Rossi pointed to the screen, and brought up the now familiar attic. Only now, chemicals, burners, goggles, tubing and the lattice of experiments filled every surface, interspersed with clear glass walls on wheels (like chalk boards) filled with equations, and laptops clearly running calculations.

"Cummings and Young argued often over the findings, with Cummings in clear disagreement over the results. Young became more and more unstable, and they argued more often. Soon, all they were doing was arguing, and they stopped discussing all of the other subjects."

"How did he die?" Gideon asked quietly.

"From what I can tell?" Rossi mused, "I think Cummings deliberately mislabeled some of the chemicals he sent up for Young to work with. Because Young died over his burner while adding something to a mixture. Whatever it was, smoked. Clearly it wasn't supposed too because he didn't seem to expect it. It smoked right up in his face, and it took 10 agonizing minutes for him to die. Cummings didn't say a word through any of it."

"Geez," Morgan muttered, as JJ put her hand to her mouth in shock.

"We should be able to prove it when we get the autopsy results back," Rossi finished.

There was an air of expectation as everybody turned to Hotch.

"I had Reid," Hotch began. "From what you've all described, Reid's experience was different. Reid and Cummings seemed to get along very well. First off, the cat was put up there. Secondly, Reid never antagonized him. They talked about everything and anything. They would disagree, but it was more of a debate than anything with real anger in it. Cummings suggested that Reid work on another PHD, and Reid agreed. It was very congenial."

"Reid's a profiler," Gideon murmured.

"Exactly," Hotch confirmed. "It was textbook. Reid knew instinctively how to handle Cummings. He didn't disparage or challenge him. He didn't criticize or fight him."

"Did Reid realize what he was doing?" Morgan asked.

"No," Gideon and Hotch both answered firmly at the same time.

Gideon waved Hotch to continue. Hotch did so with a nod. "No. It was survival, pure and simple. Reid is brilliant, and he's well trained. He read the behavior, recognized it, and acted on instinct."

When Hotch paused, Gideon added his thoughts. "Reid's been having to survive in that kind of situation most of his life." At the puzzled looks, he continued. "Reid was 10 years old when his father left him with his mother who alternatively would 'be' a mother and take care of him, or he would have to be taking care of her. He had to make sure CPS didn't get wind of it. Not much later, he was a 12 year old in a public high school. Then a 15 year old in college. And as socially awkward as he is, he is also something of a chameleon, being able to blend in the background enough that you don't notice him. Reid has been profiling instinctively for survival since he was a small child."

"What made him different that the others?" JJ asked curiously. "They would have been in the same situation."

Gideon shook his head. "No. The other victims had parents who had taken care of them, protected them, and nurtured them as children. They didn't need to blend into the background. Reid didn't have that layer of protection growing up; he had to be able to take care of himself in any situation."

Heads nodded thoughtfully as they digested this side of their friend. Morgan commented thoughtfully, "Reid has always had trust issues."

"And it's reasonable that he should. Who has he been able to trust?" Hotch agreed.

"Us!" Morgan said firmly. The faces of the team around the table showed firm agreement.

Hotch hid a smile. This group really was a family. They all were the 'odd man out' in one way or another. That was why they were profilers. They were smart, observant, and usually driven in one way or another. The opposites seemed to attract in this team's case.

"Yes, us," Hotch agreed. "And Cummings worked hard at eroding that. He spent a lot of time and put a lot of careful thought into it. Comments like 'You know the team isn't coming', 'they'll look for you but life will get in the way'. He repeated it over, and over, and over."

"Reid wouldn't believe that," Prentiss said in disbelief.

"What happened right before he was taken?" Hotch asked quietly and seemingly at random.

Morgan lifted an eyebrow at the supposed non-sequitor, then sighed as he realized what Hotch was getting at. "The Owen Savage case," he commented, resigned.

"Right," Hotch nodded.

"Well, shit," Morgan muttered.

"Reid did understand why everybody was furious with him then?" Rossi asked.

"He scared the shit out of us!" Morgan exclaimed. "No vest, blocking the shot?"

"Did he?" Hotch asked quietly. "Or did he think we just didn't understand?"

"We never got a chance to clear the air," Rossi said thoughtfully.

"I'll make sure Dr. Reynolds brings it up with him," Gideon said quietly.

"Shouldn't we talk to him about it?" Morgan asked.

"No," Hotch said firmly. "We have to show him with actions. Talking can come later. Words are cheap, and Reid's been lied to by people around him all his life."

"'Do my homework, and I'll be your friend'," muttered JJ.

"And once the homework is done, they never show up," Prentiss said in disgust.

Morgan thought of a goal post and a small Reid, following the girl of his dreams to disaster. And of a mother who hadn't even noticed.

"Not only lied to, but abandoned. And not just in the past. In the space of a year, he would have considered that he'd been abandoned twice." Gideon added. "Elle was a huge betrayal to Reid, although he'll never say it. And me," he admitted quietly.

The thought of Elle sobered everybody. Gideon was right. Elle and Reid had been close. She had tended to push people away by being abrasive. Reid did the same thing by being as unnoticeable as possible. But she had been the 'new' agent, and he was the youngest, so they were left behind together at staging areas often. They had seemed to get along well. So Elle's killing of the rapist Lee and then leaving as she had, without a word to him, would have clearly been seen as a betrayal by Reid.

"He's not going to take a word from any of us at face value," Gideon said quietly. "Cummings said all the right things at a time when Reid was more vulnerable than usual. We have to earn that trust back."

Slow nods around the room. Even Garcia was subdued. But they would do it. The stakes were too high not too.


	13. Part 3 Battle section 4

A Gossamer Cage

Part 3 – Battle (3.4)

Spencer Reid was having a hard time settling back into any kind of routine. It felt bizarre to be back in Virginia in his small, one bedroom apartment. The work he'd produced while in the attic was in boxes against his bedroom wall. He hadn't felt the need to pull it out. The pictures, books and other minutia of his life that Hal had gathered for him was back in place before he'd ever even set foot in the apartment. Gideon's luggage was against the far wall of the small living room, and the bedding for the couch was folded neatly in one corner of the said piece of furniture. Having Cat wandering around only added to the surreal feeling.

But what really struck him was the noise. Traffic from outside, jets overhead, people talking, and all the other white noise of living in the city. At first, he just stayed in his room, headphones on, listening to classical music and reading. But Gideon was persistently after him to eat. At least the man was quiet. He didn't really force him to talk all the time, and the quiet of the apartment eventually became somewhat peaceful and slightly less abrasive. But it still was driving Reid nuts to have a roommate, and Gideon was showing no signs of leaving.

Spencer got it, he really did. Even before his appointments with the FBI Psychiatrist, Dr. Reynolds started, he'd understood. He'd been alone for a long time in that attic. He needed to be able to live in the world again, and it would take time. But he'd been naturally solitary by necessity most of his live, so it wasn't it was unusual for him to be by himself. Even working at the BAU, he'd spent much of his free time by himself. They all had their lives outside of the bureau.

Gideon was also a slave driver about getting Reid to go outside. Everyday they walked to Reid's favorite coffee shop for a morning latte. The staff was delighted to see him back, and Gideon clearly knew everybody well. Spencer was pleased that they remembered him, but it still felt raw and too much. He was always glad to get back to the apartment.

The one really nice thing was that he didn't have to take the metro into Washington for his appointments at Quantico. Gideon always drove. Reid didn't argue. He wasn't sure he could handle the metro right now. And even he wasn't stupid enough to get behind the wheel of a car right now. That was disaster waiting to happen. One blare of somebody's horn would probably send him right off the road.

He did occasionally snap. He'd always had a temper, like most people, but he just always hid it better. He usually had pretty good control over it as well. But now? Not so much. A loud noise, or even just Gideon's unending calm would irritate him to the point that he'd snap back with some angry comment. He just couldn't help it. That feeling of irrational anger bothered him.

He did ask once about going out to Gideon's cabin, thinking that the silence and lack of crowds provided by the woods would help him feel more in control. Reid knew the man still owned the property. Spencer wouldn't admit it, but he'd driven out there a time or two in the time since Gideon had left. It would have been a perfect place to stay right now. Quiet, peaceful. And Gideon could have stayed there too. But Jason just dismissed the thought without even a word, and went back to the book he'd been reading at the time Reid had brought it up.

All of the members of the BAU team dropped by often. Singly or in groups. They'd come with board games, or cards, or just a cup of gourmet coffee for Spencer. If it was meal time Gideon would add an extra plate at the table, and they'd have an impromptu dinner guest. Since Jason's cooking was legendary, the visits became more and more often at meal time, and statistically improbable for a 'drop by just to see how you were doing' visit. It was nice to see them, but Reid felt like he was separated by an invisible wall from the action. An outsider looking in. But he'd felt that all of his life, so he dismissed it, and kept his own counsel.

Sometimes, one or another would try to talk to him about Hal. Reid was an expert at deflection, and he always turned the subject. He didn't want to discuss Hal. He didn't want to think about him. Hal still confused him.

The only thing he found amusing these days was watching Gideon and Cat. Cat loved Spencer (and the sentiment was returned), and was indifferent to everybody else. Other humans were there only to open doors, open cat food, and provide furniture to sleep on. Otherwise, they just didn't exist for Cat. All except Gideon. For whatever reason, Cat detested Gideon. Gideon would have just ignored the feline, except Cat made it clear that wherever Jason wanted to sit, that was the piece of furniture he wanted. Reid found it pretty amusing, and would watch silently as the battle would commence. It was the only living creature that Spencer had ever seen get the better of the older man.

So Reid drifted from day to day, waiting for the time when he had his apartment back to himself, and when he could occupy his mind by getting back to work.

CM CM CM CM

The bullpen was quiet, with an energy humming as the various agents, absorbed in their work, took no note of the comings and goings of extraneous staff. Gideon smiled slightly as he came through the glass doors. Heads down, and focused, Prentiss and Morgan made no motion of even noticing he'd come in. Respecting their concentration, Jason made his way quietly up the steps to the catwalk, to Hotch's office. Tapping lightly on the frame of the open door, he walked in as Hotch looked up and gestured him in. Rossi followed closed on his heels, causing Gideon to start – he hadn't even know he was there.

"Reid?" Rossi asked quietly.

Gideon just nodded, taking a seat on the couch. Rossi closed the door and leaned back against it, crossing his arms. Hotch sat back, watching the older man in anticipation.

"Dr. Reynolds thinks it's time he came back to work."

Both active agents blinked at that.

"You're kidding," Rossi blurted.

Hotch was more restrained, but his sentiment was the same. "Is he sure?"

Gideon waved them quiet. "Oh, I know. It's only been five weeks. He has the same reservations. But it's a trade off. Something has to be done to get Spencer interacting with people again. He doesn't want him to be alone, and he needs to be around more people than just me. Reynolds feels that this team is strong enough to both support and control Reid at the same time, while being able to make use of his skills. I assured him that that was the case, and that we've always taken care of our own. Was I wrong?"

Hotch shook his head. "No. I'm just not sure I trust Reid in the field."

"I agree," Gideon nodded. "Dr. Reynolds does as well. He stated clearly that he would be cleared for research only. If it's a case in the field, he goes with the team, but stays back at whatever base you're located at, working with the locals and with Garcia. Essentially, the same we would do with any agent with PTSD."

"What about hotel arrangements," Hotch asked. "That could be a problem if Dr. Reynolds still doesn't want Reid to be alone."

"No, we talked about that. He made it clear to be sure that Spencer's hotel room would always be between two of our team, but he felt that having his own room might be beneficial on a trip like that."

Rossi was nodding. "I can't say that I wouldn't be happier having him under our eyes."

"Agreed," Hotch said firmly. "So when should he come back?"

"Reynolds thought the sooner the better, so Monday."

"Okay," Hotch nodded thoughtfully, then looked up at Gideon. "So what about you, Jason? What are your plans now that Reid will be easing back into his normal routine?"

"Exactly what I told you at the hospital. I'm not leaving again. I'm in the unique position in that I'm both a profiler, and retired. And I have no intentions of moving out of Reid's apartment until I'm sure he's all right. And he's not even close."

"And how's that working out?" Rossi asked dryly.

Jason snorted. "I'm driving him crazy. But I think anybody would right now. Be prepared for a lot of silence, alternated with a lot of attitude."

"Great," Rossi sighed. "Teenage rebellion in a genius. This ought to be interesting."

"What does Reid want?" Hotch asked.

"Reid doesn't know what he wants," Gideon answered wryly.

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "What about the counseling sessions?"

"Dr. Reynolds wants to up them to three times a week when the team is in the office. When you're in the field, he wants you to keep in close contact."

Hotch just nodded. No problems there. "Physical Therapy?"

"Tapering off. Probably still once a week for a while," Gideon responded.

"Good." Rossi moved to sit down in one of the guest chairs. "Anything else we need to know?"

"Basically that the isolation, and Hal for that matter, just heightened his insecurities about his place in the team, and with people in general. Just like we had concluded. And you're comment about 'teenage rebellion'? It likely isn't too far off the mark. Dr. Reynolds commented that this situation has brought out issues of self-esteem that most people deal with in High School, and that very likely Reid never has. He was too young when he was in high school, and at the age most kids are grappling with that, he was working on his second PHD."

That got an amused snort from both men as they nodded thoughtfully. It made sense.

"He also said that if this were anybody else but Reid, or any other team besides this one, he wouldn't even consider putting him back to work. But he feels that this is the best place for him, and that he expects to be kept abreast of any problems sooner rather than later."

At that, the three began to map out tasks for Reid, and a plan for the future. As Gideon had said, they took care of their own, and it would be good to have some control again.

CM CM CM CM

Reid had been surprised when he didn't see Gideon in the waiting room, and was told by the receptionist to meet him in the BAU office. The loosening of the leash relieved his mind some. He knew that the older man was just watching out for him, but Spencer had been used to a lot of solitude, and he missed it. Having somebody living in his apartment felt chafing. In addition, all of the team members were still dropping by pretty regularly. Gideon's cooking didn't hurt. It sometimes felt like he had a revolving door on his apartment.

Wandering slowly through the hallway towards the elevator, he contemplated going outside for a walk, or going to the library, or just to the cafeteria to be by himself. He shelved that idea pretty quickly. All that would inspire was worried team members, when he didn't show up in the reasonable time it took to get from Dr. Reynold's office up to the BAU, a search, then disapproval, followed by more supervision. He was frustrated, but he wasn't stupid. And he really objected to the babysitting. He'd been taking care of himself for a long time before he joined the BAU. He just couldn't see why the others didn't seem to get that.

He thought about his last appointment with Dr. Reynolds. The man was trying to get him to discuss Hal, or Cummings, as he called him. Reid had told him flat out that he didn't want to talk about it. The doctor had let it go, but Reid knew it would come up again. He'd deal with it then. Now, he didn't want to think about it.

The elevator ride was quick, and after pushing through the doors to the BAU, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and took stock of the bullpen. He hadn't been here for over a year, and it felt odd. He was out of place in a place that used to feel so right. Standing just inside the doors, he saw his desk, neat for a change, but ready for him. His name plate was still there. He wasn't sure why that surprised him so much. Most people forget a useful tool when it was out of commission. They compensated in other ways and moved on.

The door opening, then the lack of movement caught Morgan's attention and he looked up with a frown. That quickly changed to a huge grin. "Hey! Pretty boy, it's great to see you!"

Prentiss jerked her head up, and a wide grin broke over her face as she jumped to her feet, seconds after Morgan. "Reid! Hi! We didn't know you were coming in today."

Other faces looked up and called greetings, and Spencer felt compelled to move by the attention. He made his way reluctantly over to his desk where his team mates were waiting expectantly, a tight smile thinning his lips. He really hated being the center of attention, and especially now that he was so confused about where he stood with people.

He just shrugged. "I was told to meet Gideon up here," he said quietly.

Morgan hitched a hip on the edge of his desk, delighted to see Reid in the bullpen again. Prentiss was enthusiastic as well.

"Gideon? When did he come in?" She looked confused.

Reid shrugged again. "Guess he's with Hotch," he jutted his chin toward the closed office.

Morgan just looked up, saw the activity in the Unit Chief's office. "Huh. Wonder what that's all about."

"Probably talking about me coming back to work."

"Really?" Prentiss was delighted. "When?"

"Monday, I guess."

"Hey, that's great," Morgan grinned. "We'll be able to solve our cases faster with you back on the job!"

"I'll say. That's wonderful, Reid!"

Reid cringed to himself. Great. The useful tool was back again. He was saved a reply when Hotch's door opened, and Gideon and Rossi stepped out.

"Ready to go?" Gideon asked.

Reid just nodded, and headed over to meet him.

"We'll see you Monday, kid," called Morgan.

Reid just turned with an awkward wave, and headed out the door behind Jason, glad to be gone.


	14. Part 3 Battle section 5

A Gossamer Cage

Part 3 – Battle (3.5)

Being back at work was about what he'd expected. He'd arrived to find his desk absolutely loaded with files, and grins on both Prentiss' and Morgan's faces as he took in the towering stack.

"We didn't want you to get bored," Prentiss said with cheerful deviousness.

Morgan agreed. "You go through them so fast, we just thought we'd make it worth your while."

Reid had made what obligatory responses he had to, greeted everybody who came up to see him (Garcia and JJ both made special trips when they realized he'd gotten to work), then settled down with relief to dig into the files. He'd never been good at social situations and small talk, but now it seemed that he was worse than he'd ever been. A part of him missed his quiet attic, with the breakers crashing below, and the pleasant sound of the wind around the eaves.

He found it hard to concentrate. There was so much noise in the bullpen. Phones ringing, people walking by, short snippets of conversation, the drone of the TV news behind him. He managed an hour and a half, holding onto his temper by a thread each time somebody spoke to him. Finally, he growled to himself, stood up, snatched the files he'd been trying to concentrate on, and swept out of the bullpen.

Prentiss looked up in surprise, then at Morgan, who was looking after Reid, a look of concern on his face.

"What was that about?" She asked, perplexed.

"No idea," Morgan muttered, shaking his head.

"It's too loud in here for him," Rossi said, coming up behind them, looking at the still swinging glass doors.

"Ah," Morgan nodded.

"Should we go after him?" Emily asked, concerned.

"No, leave him be for now," Rossi advised.

"Are you sure?" Morgan said, rhetorically.

"Not really," Rossi admitted.

Prentiss just snorted.

CM CM CM CM

Two hours later, Morgan headed for Garcia's office. "Hey, hot stuff!"

"Hey yourself," she reported. "He's down in the conference room by the file stacks."

"What?" Morgan said surprised.

"Reid. You, Prentiss, Rossi, Hotch & JJ. Each one of you has come asking if I could track down where he got to. He has his phone, and it's on. The boy wonder is down in the conference room by the stacks," she repeated patiently.

Morgan started to laugh. "Are we really that bad?"

"Uh-huh," Garcia said complacently. "But the office of supreme omniscience is up for any question."

"And did you know this before somebody even asked?" Morgan wondered knowingly.

The flush on Garcia's face gave her away.

Morgan started to laugh. "Okay, so why is he down there?" he wondered.

"Derek, it's quiet down there."

"Ah. Makes sense. It's not just quiet. It's dead down there. Nobody goes down there."

"Exactly. Give him some space."

Morgan sighed. "Right."

Garcia grinned up at him. "I know it's hard. But he needs time."

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean I have to like it."

She just nodded her heartfelt agreement. "I know. I just want our junior g-man back."

CM CM CM CM

The conference room was a relief for Reid. The quiet was broken only by the movement of air from the HVAC, and he was able to concentrate. What really amazed him, however, was that none of the team bothered him. The lack of babysitting both relieved his mind, and seemed to confirm his place as the least mattered on the team at the same time. Putting that disturbing train of thought aside, he went back to work, feeling the tension go out of his shoulders as his brain engaged on the problems at hand.

The solution worked for awhile. He made it through the first day. He put away his computer and files upstairs, and fielded Morgan's smirking and questions about 'how he liked the social isolation of the stacks'. It figured that they had known where he'd gone. It would have been nice had they just asked him. He was grateful when Gideon picked him up and didn't ask a single question about his day, and just drove home in silence, where whatever was in the crockpot smelled wonderful. Spencer just ate and retreated to his bedroom, somewhat overwhelmed by the day.

The next few days seemed fine. He'd meet upstairs, collect his work and head for the basement conference room. No cases had come up and he was able to handle his paperwork, and the consults assigned to him in peace. It wasn't until the next week that things hit a snag.

On Wednesday, he headed down for his conference room, and found a couple of techs setting up files on the table. Frowning, he moved slowly inside.

"What's going on?"

One of the techs looked up and smiled. "Setting up for a financial audit. Finance requested this room for the next month. The auditor's aren't looking forward to be sequestered down here. Finance is hoping that they'll leave faster that way."

"But I've been using this conference room," Spencer snapped, uncertainty gnawing at him. What was he going to do now?

The smile on the tech's face vanished. "I'm sorry sir, but the room was vacant on the resources list." She looked worried.

Reid reined in his temper. It wasn't her fault. "No problem," he said tightly. "I guess I didn't put my name down for it."

"Well, nobody usually uses it, so Finance grabbed it," the other tech said nervously.

Spencer just nodded quickly, and made his way out the door before he lost his temper. Stopping by the elevators, he wasn't sure where he could go. Certainly not back to the bullpen. Just the thought of it made his stomach clench. Morgan and Prentiss would want to talk and laugh, just like nothing was different. That had been fine . . . before. But now he didn't trust them at all. They weren't friends. And he wasn't strong enough yet to fake it.

Finally, he hit on a solution. There was one place. It wasn't ideal, but it would work. Hitting the button, he called the elevator.

CM CM CM CM

Garica looked up in surprise as her inner sanctum was breached. The sight of the elusive Dr. Reid sweeping in made her speechless for a moment. That gave time for Reid drop his files against the wall, and sit down cross-legged on the floor in the corner. He hardly looked at her as he grabbed the top file off the stack, and opened it.

"Um, not that I'm not delighted to see you Dr. Reid, but what are you doing?" She finally asked faintly, craning her neck to see over the far edge of the desk so she could see him. She was convinced that whatever she said would set him off. Talking to Reid these days was like navigating a minefield.

"Too noisy in the bullpen, and Finance is using the stacks' conference room," he mumbled shortly, not looking at her.

A warmth ran thru Garcia, and she covered a smile. "You're always welcome. It's pretty quiet in here, if you can stand me muttering to my screens," she said.

He muttered something that sounded like an affirmative and dove into his work.

Garcia turned back to her own projects, the smile turning to a grin now that he couldn't see it. Most excellent. She had Reid in her own lair now, and she could finally keep an eye on him. She could be quiet for that.

The silence turned from tense to comradely as the minutes ticked into hours and the tension in Reid's shoulders relaxed. Garcia, one eye on her companion, the other on her work, was happy to note that the defensiveness in his posture left as she didn't push, or pry, or otherwise draw him into a world where he wasn't ready to go.

Most excellent, she thought once again. They'd get their Reid back yet.

CM CM CM

Gradually Reid managed to integrate back into the team. The next day when he'd come into Garcia's office to escape, a chair had been added, and a space on the far end of one of the ends of her 'u' shaped desk had been cleared. Garcia was in the middle of running a program so she just gave a little wave and kept her attention on her screens. But she did notice that Reid hesitated, then finally sat down and settled in. After that, Reid would spend some time in the bullpen, but usually ended up in her office, where they worked in relative silence. And when the downstairs conference room was clear for use once more, Reid stayed where he was, in Garcia's inner sanctum.

Cases came and went, and Reid began to add to the insights, losing himself in the work. He didn't say much, or interact unless it was work related, but the team was gaining it cohesiveness slowly. The first case in the field was difficult, but was accomplished successfully. The worried tension dropped a notch after that.

But Reid was still volatile, and difficult to talk to. Nobody knew what would set him off. One day, a subject would be fine, the next, it would set him off. But the team tried to be unfailingly patient, understanding the issues, but it wasn't easy. They were all strong personalities, and at one time or another, each one of them longed to shake some sense into the young man.

The days were often two steps forward, and once step backwards. Progress was slow, but it was steady.


	15. Part 3 Battle section 6

A Gossamer Cage

Fair warning: There is a swat or two to the backside in this chapter. About 3 sentences, and it's pretty innocuous, but if you are offended, then don't read,

Part 3 – Battle (3.6)

Gideon was having a rough day. It was a Sunday, and Reid was especially contrary. Nothing he could say to the young man seemed to be right. If he said the sky was blue, Reid would answer that it was green.

Reid was enjoying a growing independence. He often went for walks on his own, getting coffee for both of them, going to the bookstore, etc. He was driving short distances again. In other words, life was slowly getting back to normal. Only Reid tended to be far more solitary than he had while Gideon had known him, and that wasn't good.

The offsite cases had also been good for both of them. Gideon had needed the space to recharge, and Reid was clearly enjoying the small piece of freedom. The younger man was obviously beginning to want his personal life back as well. Gideon just ignored any suggestions that it was time for him to move out, thus irritating Reid that much more.

But Jason hadn't been idle while Reid was with the team on a case. He spent time with Dr. Reynolds, briefing him on the home situation, and getting tools on how to deal with the younger man's volatility, and his lack of any willingness to discuss Hal.

"First, Hal will come in his own time. Leave it alone for now, Jason. The first thing you have to deal with is Spencer himself. You put it perfectly awhile back," Reynolds had told him emphatically. "Spencer is just like a teenager testing the boundaries. He's ready to be on his own again, but he also wants to know that there are limits. That's safety. He's never had that. Nothing in his life has ever been typical or normal, and he's never had anybody he could trust before this team. That trust has been shaken, so now he wants proof. He wants to know if Hal was wrong, or right. So now, _especially_ now, he's pushing to see exactly how far he can go, to find your breaking point, and he's probably not even aware of it. He wants to know if you're going to leave again before he submits to trusting again. It's incredibly frightening for him, and it's a battle of wills with you that he's not even aware he's engaged in."

Dr. Reynolds had continued. "Agent Hotchner, Agent Rossi and the other members of the BAU team are going through the same thing on a lesser scale. Here at work, there is a clear hierarchy, so it's more of a test of commitment on a personal level, rather than a 'who is in charge' question. 'Do you care about me as a person, or just as a coworker' issue. With you? He needs to know, and really believe, that there isn't anything he can do to push you away. Only then will he stop shoving at you. And it's more difficult in this case, because Spencer still isn't convinced that a solitary life in an attic isn't the perfect way to live. So he wants you to prove it too him."

Jason had thought long and hard about that conversation. It was a basic tenant of parenting, the younger spreading their wings and going off on their own. College was usually the first step. But the high school years were fraught with arguments and battles over exactly how much independence is enough. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, Jason had missed most of it with his biological son, Stephen. And now here he was, getting the attitude in spades from Spencer. _Karma_, thought Gideon as he watched Reid bouncing around the apartment.

Reid had just gotten a text from JJ informing him that they had a case. It had come in the middle of a fight about coffee, if that could be believed. Reid had been setting up the coffee maker to brew another pot, and Jason had nixed it. Reid and caffeine weren't the best combination, and he still hadn't gained the weight his doctor wanted. Coffee wasn't going to help, and he'd had a lot already that morning. Reid hadn't taken well to that correction, and the drama had begun, only to be interrupted by the page.

Gideon was relieved. They were having fights over the small, stupid things now. Reid pushing just because he wanted to argue. Hotch had mentioned the same thing about Reid's behavior at work as well. It was becoming a distraction.

Reid had been like this after his abduction by Thomas Henkel, Gideon suddenly realized. Volitale, and somewhat unpredictable. They had given him space then, and look where it landed them. That wouldn't happen this time. _This has to stop now,_ Gideon thought in concern, _before it gets out of hand._

"My go-bag. I can't find it," Reid was looking around the couch. "You're stuff is in the way."

"Your go-bag is by the door," Gideon answered patiently.

"I've got to get clean clothes in it, I forgot!" Reid dashed into the bedroom, suddenly remembering that he hadn't cleaned it out after the last case.

"It's done. I washed your clothes and repacked it two days ago." Gideon's eyes narrowed as he followed Reid into the bedroom, and watch as the young man sorted haphazardly through the notebooks on his bedside table. Reid had never been that careless about his go-bag in the past. But since he'd been back to work, he'd been amazingly sloppy in his habits about keeping organized. Just like he'd been after Henkel, he realized once again.

"Oh, Ok," Reid answered distractedly, already looking back at the notebooks he wanted.

Gideon had suddenly had more than enough. They had all been unbelievably patient, and Reid was acting like a spoiled brat. He was done. This wasn't going to be a repeat. They weren't going to lose Reid to drugs, or behavior or anything else. He wasn't going to be sensitive and respect Reid's space about this. This time, Gideon knew for certain that drugs weren't involved. He was with Reid when the young man wasn't at work. And at the BAU, Hotch had a close eye on him. The whole team did. But the attitude was similar. It was time to stop this. Now.

"Ow!" Reid exclaimed, turning to look at Gideon in shock. The older man was standing calmly after having just delivered a stinging smack to the young man's backside.

"Shit, what was that . . . OW!" He stared at Gideon in disbelief, stepping back out of range and rubbing his smarting backside after a second unexpectedly hard swat. "That hurt!"

"Do I have your full attention yet?" Gideon asked dryly.

Reid looked at him warily. "Yeaaaahhh," he drew out carefully.

"Good. First, clean up that language," he said sternly.

Spencer nodded uncertainly after a pause that made it clear Jason expected an acknowledgement.

"Good," he repeated. "Now your go-back is freshly packed, by the door. Your laptop and notebooks are in your messenger bag next to it. Now stop acting like a spoiled child. Get your head in the game and do your job."

Reid narrowed his eyes at the reprimand. "Stop treating me like a kid," he said hotly, caution forgotten.

"Then stop acting like one," was the calm reply.

"I never . . .!" Reid broke off and stepped back as Gideon just raised an eyebrow in warning, and maybe his hand, just a scant fraction of an inch.

Jason gave a brief nod of approval at Spencer's reaction. "You have a plane to catch. We'll talk later." The tightening around Reid's mouth didn't bode well for that future conversation.

"Reid," Gideon spread his hands, trying to calm the situation. "You have a team that is counting on you right now," he soothed. "Your insight can save lives. Hotch and the rest need you focused and together right now. All right?"

Gideon was surprised at the wry, bitter twist to Reid's lips. It was gone so fast that he almost wondered if he'd imagined it. Damn. He'd thought they were through this. Apparently not.

"Yes." Reid nodded, began to move towards the door, and then stopped, looking warily at Gideon. Jason suppressed a smile. Good, the kid was beginning to get the idea.

"Let me get my keys, I'll drive you," Gideon said serenely.

Reid hesitated like he wanted to argue, and then just nodded, clearing not willing to push the older man.

Gideon followed him out the door, wondering if anybody had ever cared enough to discipline the young man outside of a work situation before. The very thought made him incredibly sad.

CM CM CM CM

"What the hell did you do?" Hotch asked, the wonder in his voice echoing down the phone line much later that night. The team had finally taken a few hours to sleep and Hotch had taken the time to update Jason regardless of the lateness of the hour.

Gideon smiled at the unusual sentiment in the man's normally even tones. "What do you mean?"

"Reid. That's what I mean. He's been all business. Still not talking a lot unless its case related. But he's finally interacting with the team normally, not snapping at everybody, and no  
attitude. In short, he's acting like an FBI agent again, not a moody teenager. So, I ask again, what did you do?"

"Just got his attention. How is the case going?"

Hotch gave a long suffering sigh and stared at the phone for a moment. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Jason, you can be as maddening as Reid. You aren't going to tell me?"

"I just told him he was acting like a child and swatted him a couple of times when he was off the rails."

A moment of dead silence, then Hotch's chuckle was the next thing Gideon heard. "And how did that go over?"

"Let's just say he's not quite sure what I'll do next, so he's pretty wary."

Hotch's chuckle turned into outright laughter. "How do you think it would go over if I tried that?"

"Probably would get you fired. I wouldn't suggest it."

"Too bad. He's certainly more attentive."

"Good. When do you think you'll finish up?"

Hotch paused. "Friday maybe? We're getting close, but it's taking awhile. And this one isn't as bad as some."

"Good. Let me know when you get in. I'll make sure I pick him up."

"Not sure that Reid's going to appreciate that," Hotch laughed. "But I can't thank you enough. The rest of the team would thank you as well, if they knew. Everybody is still cautious, but the atmosphere is much improved." Hotch couldn't hide his relief. If he had had to reprimand Reid again, he was pretty sure the young man would walk away. And that would be a tragedy for all concerned.

Jason smiled and rung off.

CM CM CM CM

Spencer rubbed his eyes and stretched as the plane came in for landing in Washington DC. All around him, the other BAU team members were doing the same. Closing books, or waking up. Morgan and Hotch were putting away a deck of cards. Sitting up from the couch he'd managed to take possession of, he sighed and yawned.

Dave Rossi looked over at him from where he was putting his book into his briefcase and smiled briefly. "Sleep well?"

Reid just nodded, wary. He didn't like having to talk to the other team members unless it was work related. Hal's voice was still far to fresh in his mind. "They use you until the work is done. Then they want the switch set to 'off''. They aren't interested in you. They are only interested in what you can do for them.' Since it had echoed Spencer's own feelings, he believed the full truth of that statement.

"Doing anything interesting for the weekend?" Rossi inquired as the plane rolled down the runway, decreasing in speed moment by moment.

Spencer just shrugged. "Don't know," he muttered.

"Oh, come on, Reid," Morgan cajoled as he grabbed his carry-on while they waited for the door to open. "Surely you've got something planned, even if it is just going to the library? Feel like going out for a drink?" He offered.

Reid bit back a sharp report at the library comment, and just shook his head. "No thanks. I just want to go home." When they disembarked, he made sure to climb into the back seat of Hotch's SUV, leaving the women to ride with Morgan this time.

Hotch just glanced at him briefly, and didn't say anything although clearly hearing the exchange, much to Reid's relief. He was really tired of the team trying to engage him. They worked together. Nothing was said about the fact that they had to socialize together as well. It was bad  
enough that he had Gideon apparently permanently ensconced in his apartment. He just wasn't willing to try to fit in socially anymore as well.

The weary team threaded its way through the empty bullpen to their individual desks, and began to unpack the files and evidence from the trip. Nobody was going to be staying late tonight working. It was 9 pm on a Friday night and time to go home.

"Welcome home, my doves!" Garcia's cheery voice boomed through the empty room as she sat at Morgan's chair awaiting their arrival. Analyst Kevin Lynch was perched on the desk edge clearly keeping her company.

"Garcia!" Prentiss smiled in greeting. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, hot stuff," Morgan grinned.

"I've come to kidnap all of you. It's time for a par-tay!" she sang. "Kevin and I decided that we should all go out to eat to help you unwind. We have reservations at new Thai place down the street. And you can't say no. I know you hadn't eaten anything before you left. I have my ways of knowing. JJ, they also have a Dart Board. And really bad players."

JJ laughed. "How can I say no to that?"

"I'm in," Rossi called from the catwalk. "Hotch, you are too. I saw you eyeing the packaged crackers on the plane."

Hotch emerged from his office, a tired smile on his face. This was the happiest he'd seen the group in a long time. "Fine. I see I'm outvoted. And honestly, I could use a beer."

Reid studiously ignored the others slowly chiming in their approvals of the idea. He wistfully watched them under the cover of his hair as he straightened his desk, but he knew better than to get sucked in. They could be so believable, but he wasn't one to be fooled twice.

"Reid, my lovely? What about you?" Garcia looked hopefully at the taciturn genius. She was delighted that he shared her office as least some time on most days. But she wanted his unpredictability and quick wit back. Those traits had always resonated with her independent spirit. Two square pegs that didn't ever fit into the round holes. They'd found a home here, however. The new, silent Reid wasn't nearly as much fun.

Spencer looked up, pushing his hair back behind his ear and said, almost with regret, "Ah, no. I'm going to go on . . ."

"But it's Thai food," Garcia begged. "It's your favorite!"

"And didn't you say you wanted to try this place?" Prentiss wheedled.

"Come on, kid," Morgan added encouragingly.

"Ah, I don't think . . ."

"He'll go." Jason Gideon strolled through the open doors of the BAU office. "I'm his ride home and I want to go. I've wanted to try that restaurant since it opened."

Reid wasn't pleased, but after looking at the serene Gideon for a moment, he decided that he didn't want to push the issue. After that scene before he'd left? There was no telling what the man would do, and it wouldn't do to push it in public. He might just find out. "I guess I  
don't have a choice." If there was bitterness to his tone, the others graciously overlooked it, as they voiced their approval.

Hotch and Gideon exchanged covert amused glances. So far, so good.


	16. Part 3 Battle section 7

A Gossamer Cage

Fair warning: There is a swat or two in here. Again, pretty innocuous and about two sentences, but if you don't like, don't read.

Part 3 – Battle (3.7)

The face-off began simply enough. Cat was missing. Reid was worried, and that made him just that much pricklier than ever. And living with Gideon was making him absolutely crazy. The man was just everywhere. And if it wasn't him, it was somebody at work. Nobody would leave him alone. And after almost a year of solitude to do what he wanted, when he wanted, the constant presence was driving him nuts.

Reid did have to admit if he thought about it (and he tried his best not to) that he wasn't exactly being reasonable. But hey, it was his life, and he could do what he wanted. He'd been doing what he wanted since he was 10 years old and his father left. Nobody had cared much to check on him when his mother was having an 'episode' and he'd managed to survive. He wasn't sure why the constant surveillance now. When he first got back, yeah, it had made sense. Now? Not so much. And frankly, Reid didn't feel like being reasonable right now.

"You shoved him out, I know you did," Reid said accusingly, glaring at Gideon.

Jason sighed, long-suffering. "Of course I didn't."

"I know you did. You hate him."

"No, he hates me. I like cats. Most cats anyway," Jason said patiently.

The consult the team had done that day had been difficult, with a lot of politics and difficult personalities. They had been just the kind of people who took one look at Reid and treated him like a second class assistant, and they had done exactly that. Reid had come home tired and out of sorts. Aaron had at least called ahead to warn Jason the kind of mood Reid was in, as soon as Spencer and Morgan had left for the day; Morgan insisting on dropping Reid off at home.

At least Spencer was behaving himself at work these days (according to Hotch) since the last blowup a few weeks ago, and Gideon just wished he'd behave at home too. It was like dealing with a 16 year old Stephen, all over again, and he'd only had him on weekends. Spencer was being more careful with his behavior, but Gideon knew it was just simmering under the surface, waiting to boil over.

"Well, when did you let him out?"

"Spencer, you let him out when you left this morning. He hasn't come back since."

"How would you know?" Reid demanded, seething. "You probably didn't check to see!" Reid really didn't know why he was being so completely disagreeable, or why he was taking it out on Gideon, but frankly, he didn't care. Jason would leave when he got fed up enough anyway, he'd already proved that. That was what made it even more important to find Cat.

"Spencer, I've let that damn cat out, and back in, more times in one day than you would believe. Today, he didn't show up!" Gideon furrowed his brow, glaring right back at the kid. It was enough to drive him crazy.

Spencer's lips thinned as he glared right back, muttering, "You just hate him because Hal gave him to me."

And there it was. Just like that. They were finally at the heart of the problem. Jason counted to ten, slowly. Then he did it again. Finally he felt calm enough to try for reason. "Spencer, Hal was a serial killer who . . . "

"No, he wasn't!" Reid swept his hand across the table in anger, sending the chess set, empty mugs and whatever papers were strewn on top, sailing off and across the room. The shattering of ceramic echoed in the small room.

That was it. Hal or no Hal, that kind of behavior was completely unacceptable and he'd had more than enough of it. Jason was across the floor in two long steps, grabbed the kid by the bicep, turned him sideways and had landed a pair of determined swats on his backside before Reid even knew what was happening.

Reid yelped and quickly pulled away. Jason let him go, and watched as Spencer backed into the corner, glaring back at the older man. Reid opened his mouth to shoot back a nasty reply, realized he had boxed himself in with nowhere to go that wouldn't put him in range of Gideon, thought better of it and grit his teeth.

Jason nodded to himself. The kid was learning. Although this would have been easier on everybody if the kid had been about 8 years old instead of 26.

"Let's try this again, and see if you can behave like an adult this time. Hal was a serial killer, and he left you to die." The bald statement just hung out there.

Spencer was shaking his head, denying. It wasn't true. He knew they kept telling him, but he didn't believe it.

"Yes, he was," Gideon repeated more gently, but with no less emphasis.

"NO! He was the only person who didn't use me like all the rest of you bastards!"

"That is enough," Gideon said sternly, crossing his arms; his glare and cold voice more than enough to shut down Reid's tirade. "You don't use language like that. Period. Secondly, nobody has used you, and you know it! All anybody has been is concerned about you." Gideon had had more than enough. "And third? We have all been more than patient with you, and that patience is just about used up. So if you want to act like a spoiled child, I'll treat you like one. Do I need to put you over my knee or can we handle this like adults?"

Reid blinked, and looked at him, stunned. "You wouldn't dare!" he blustered, shocked at the thought.

"Try me."

The stand off last only a few seconds.

"I'm going out for a walk," Reid muttered, pushing carefully past Gideon, and keeping out of arms reach as much as possible.

"Good choice," Gideon answered, turning to stare after him.

CM CM CM CM

Reid walked quickly down the street, head down, lips in a thin line. Who did Gideon think he was, anyway? Reid had been taking care of himself for a long time, and didn't need somebody coming in and trying to be a father. Besides, Gideon had lost all say in Reid's life when he'd left the way he had. He really hated the man sometimes. And he was wrong about Hal. Spencer knew he was.

And really, why did Spencer have to leave to go calm down? It was his apartment! Jason had just moved in, not asking, just assuming. And he was driving Reid crazy! So now, here he was, out in the freezing cold, his cat missing, and Jason nice and warm in Reid's apartment. It was so not fair.

He walked for about twenty minutes in the cold wind until he finally felt himself calming down. He was still mad, but he didn't feel like he was going to come apart anymore. Now he was beginning to think he could get a handle on himself again. The more he walked and thought about it, the more he was even beginning to get embarrassed at his behavior. He didn't agree with Gideon, not at all, but he could have handled all of this better, that was for sure.

He was just angry all the time right now, and he really didn't know why. Everything seemed off somehow. Being alone helped, but it just seemed that there were people all around all the time and it was just setting him off. With a sigh, he turned around and began to meander his way back to his apartment. He owed Jason an apology.

Brilliant color flooded his cheeks as he thought of Gideon swatting him again. What was up with that? It was ridiculous. He was an adult. Gideon wouldn't have really turned him over his knee. Would he? Reid shied away from even the thought. Good grief, he never, ever wanted to find out. Geez.

Finally, just as full dark set in, Reid reached his apartment. The lights were shining through the front window, looking warm and cozy and inviting. Maybe Jason would be cooking. He did that often when he wanted to think, or needed to calm down. That would be nice. They could talk, and Reid could explain why Hal couldn't be the killer that they all seemed to think he was.

Reid unlocked the door and got inside quickly, enjoying the warmth after the cold. He was tired and drained, and ready to make peace. It was only after he got his coat off and turned back to the room that he realized it was empty.

The table had been cleaned up, and the broken mugs swept up. But not only was Gideon gone, but his luggage that had been stacked over against the wall was gone as well. The clothes and bedding that had been stacked on the back of the couch were gone too.

Reid blanched, and reached out to steady himself on the counter for a moment. Then he walked deeper into the small room, and over to the wall that had recently served as Jason's 'closet'. Reid stared at the blank wall for a moment, completely disbelieving. Jason was gone.

Backing up, Spencer slid back into the corner of his living room, surveying the empty room. Empty of the bedding Gideon had been using on the couch. Empty of the luggage normally taking up the far wall. Empty of Jason Gideon. Reid slowly slid down the wall, folding himself into as small a space as possible. He'd finally done it. He'd gotten what he wanted. He was alone again. He'd finally driven Gideon away. And instead of feeling happy about it, all he could do was feel miserable. Empty, down to his toes.

Compressing himself into the corner, he wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled in on himself. Vision blurring, he realized that he'd been abandoned yet again. Only this time, he'd pushed the person away, instead of trying to be the best he could be. It just didn't seem to matter. Everybody left him. Always. He just was never good enough for them to stay. And this time, he'd been a royal ass. Gideon was right to leave.

The color of the walls blended and blurred into the deeper dark brown of the couch as the tears fell. He was so worthless. Nobody stayed, he just wasn't worth it. Spencer finally just buried his face in his knees and gave into his misery. It didn't matter anyway. Who cared if he was wallowing in self pity, and crying like a baby? Nobody would ever know, nor would they care if they did. And Spencer had to admit to himself (finally) that even Hal hadn't been what he thought he was. The thought made him shudder at just how bad he'd misjudged that one.

The thought of finding an attic where he could be alone again was enticing. But it was getting harder and harder to think and plan, and he was having a hard time just breathing. Today was shaping up to be the absolute worst of his life, and that was really saying something. Trying to catch his breath, his thoughts began to dissolve. He was just coming apart, sobbing as he finally grieved for all he had lost in the last year and a half.

For the situation in Georgia with Thomas Henkel that had shattered him. The Dillaudid. For Elle and Gideon. For the six team members that had been friends who had died in Boston at the hands of Adrain Bale. For Owen Savage, who had felt so incredibly hopeless that he'd killed everybody around him, and the fear that he himself could break to that point. The grief of all those around him leaving. The lose of the quiet of the attic. The loss of Morgan, and Prentis, and Hotch, and Rossi, and JJ, and Garcia, and the rest of the people at Quantico who had been so cheerful and friendly before he'd met Tobias Henkle. For the loss of his innocence, and the 'family' that he thought he'd finally had. For the first time, he just gave into it and sobbed, allowing it all to wash over him.

He was sobbing so hard that he couldn't breathe, and was drawing in harsh, whooping breaths. He screwed his eyes shut tight and ignored the pounding in his ears and let it go.

It took awhile before he realized that somebody was shaking him, speaking his name.

"Spencer. Come on, Son, look at me! Spencer. Calm down. Easy, easy. Look at me, Son."

Fingers were flexing on his shoulder trying to bring him back to awareness. The grip was so tight, it hurt. Reid finally managed to open his eyes, to find himself face to face with an anxious Jason Gideon.

A relieved smile crossed Gideon's face. "Good boy, now take a deep breath. Slowly."

Spencer looked at the man unbelieving. "B-But, you l-left," he finally managed to stammer.

Understanding flashed across Gideon's face, and instinctively, he pulled the young man close, wrapping his arms around him tightly, one hand cupping the back of his head. "No, Son, I didn't. I was out looking for that dammed cat."

Right on cue, the cat's purr was clearly heard as he wound himself around Spencer's back and hip. Spencer closed his eyes in relief and buried his face into Gideon's shoulder, still trying to control his erratic breathing.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Although Reid was still in the throes of the uncontrollable sobbing he'd finally given into, Gideon just managed to understand one word, 'luggage', from the face muffled in his shoulder. He closed his eyes and just held tighter, beginning to rock slowly, relaxing.

"I just put things away. My luggage and bedding are in the closet. You were just so upset by tripping over everything. You and Garcia. Neither of you like a mess unless it's of your making," he laughed slightly. "I'll have to get you an MP3 player too," he added absently.

" . . . s-sorry-y . . ."

Gideon had to listen carefully, but he got it. Rubbing the young man's back comfortingly, he just smiled, and answered the unspoken plea. "It's alright, Spencer, I'm not mad, and I'm not going anywhere. I know you're sorry, it's okay. I promise."

Feeling the tight shoulders relax ever so slightly under his hands, Gideon went back to his litany of reassurance. "I'm not leaving. Calm down, that's it. Just calm down. I'm not going anywhere. I promise. Not ever again."

The show of emotion was unusual for both of them, but the catharsis had been long coming for Spencer Reid, and now that he was in the middle of it, he couldn't stop. Gideon didn't mind. He was more than happy to just hold him through it. A line may well have been crossed, but at the end of it, Reid would clearly see that he was considered family, and that nothing, absolutely nothing could change that. 


	17. Part 3 Battle section 8

A Gossamer Cage

Part 3 – Battle (3.8)

Hotch came over to Reid's apartment as soon as Jason called. Gideon let him in, smiling tiredly, and handed him a cup of coffee.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes, I think so. Have a seat. We need to talk. Thanks for coming over, I really couldn't leave."

Hotch nodded. From what Jason had told him, everything had certainly come to a head tonight. The both took a seat in the living room, Hotch on the couch, and Jason in the chair. Looking across to the closed bedroom door, Hotch saw the cat sitting in front of it, clearly wanting in. He could swear that the cat was glaring at Jason.

"Reid asleep?"

"Dead to the world. He's completely exhausted. He really thought that I had left." The lines in Gideon's face deepened. That wasn't a scene he'd soon forget, coming back in, and seeing Spencer completely undone.

"Sounds like that brought him to his senses," Hotch said.

"Yes. But I think it may be a long night."

Hotch nodded. He knew Jason needed his own sounding board right now, but that would come in its own time. "How about a game of chess?"

Jason smiled and grabbed the board and began to set it up on the table.

Hotch had lost track of time, between the chess, the intermittent discussion, and the war of wills between Jason and the cat. That was more amusing than anything he'd seen in a long time.

"I haven't seen you so thoroughly beaten by anything like that in years," Hotch finally drawled after Gideon sat back down after patiently shoeing the cat away from scratching on the bedroom door for about the 8th time.

Gideon glared at him, and muttered something about 'damned cat' before looking at the board again.

Still, Hotch was surprised, when Jason looked up, suddenly alert. Hotch looked up, but he hadn't heard anything.

"Be right back," Gideon said shortly, and got up, heading for the bedroom door. It wasn't until he opened it that Hotch heard the low moan. Gideon shoved the cat gently back out of the way with his foot, and ignoring the glare and the swat at his ankle the cat gave him, and disappeared into the room.

Hotch smiled and got up to make another cup of coffee. Reid was as good for Jason, as Jason was for Reid. He was grateful all over again that the older man was back.

CM CM CM CM

Reid woke up enough to realize he was in his own bed, and feeling exhausted. The room was dark, but the nightlight had been thoughtfully unearthed from the drawer where Reid hid it every morning before opening his bedroom door, and plugged into the wall, throwing a soft glow around  
the room. The door was closed, but the sliver of light at the bottom showed that the living room lights were on. A low murmur of voices was almost indistinguishable from the outer room.

He turned over, feeling stiff in every muscle in his body, and must have dozed for a moment, because the next thing he knew, the voices had stopped and a figure was sitting down on his bed. A calloused hand brushed his forehead. "Go back to sleep, Spencer. Everything's okay. You're just exhausted."

"Work," Reid managed to mutter thickly.

Spencer could barely see Gideon's slight smile in the dim light. "No worries. It's the middle of the night. Besides, you have as much time off as you need. Go back to sleep."

The cat chose that moment to push through the door and jump lightly onto the bed and curl up by Reid's hand, pushing at it as he started to purr. Jason glared at it.

"Damm cat," he muttered. He looked back at Reid sternly. "If he's going to keep you awake, he's going out."

The cat, as though he understood, glared back at Gideon, ears flat.

Reid managed a chuckle even though his eyes were trying to close on their own, finger tips just barely scratching the cat's ears, who just purred louder.

"Do you need anything?" Gideon asked softly, trying not to interrupt the process of Reid dropping off to sleep again.

_Don't leave_, Reid thought. He must have said it out loud, because Gideon answered with unusual gentleness.

"I'm not going anywhere. Go back to sleep."

Reid didn't know if he said anything else, because the purring of the cat seemed to overwhelm anything else.

CM CM CM CM

When Reid finally emerged from the bedroom, the cat was gone, it was light out and the apartment was quiet. He stumbled blurrily from the room, not quite coherent, to find his boss sitting on his couch, feet up on the footstool, reading.

"Hotch?" His voice was rough from the emotional rollercoaster he'd gone through and the long, deep sleep he'd just woken from. He looked around, confused, for Gideon. He was not up to dealing with Aaron Hotchner this morning.

Looking relaxed, Aaron set aside his book and smiled at the young man's confusion. First things first. "Jason had to run a couple of errands. He asked me to stay until he got back."

Reid blinked, not quite taking everything in. He dropped into the armchair. His brain felt coated in molasses, and he was processing far too slowly to deal with this. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"It's Saturday, Reid," Hotch said gently as he stood. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"Ah," Reid began brilliantly as he took in Hotch's jeans and sweatshirt. "You, well, you don't have to cook for me. You don't have to stay."

Hotch laughed. "I'm under orders from Jason Gideon. Would you want to argue with him?"

"Uh, well, no," Reid admitted, inadvertent heat flooding his face.

Aaron hid a smile at the emotions that were clear on the young man's face as he made his way into the kitchen. Gideon had the upper hand now with Reid, that was for certain. And that was a good thing. "Pancakes?"

"Great! I mean, if it isn't too much trouble."

"Not at all." Hotch paused to open the door and let the cat in. The cat purred around his ankles for a moment before making his way to Reid and jumping up to settle in his lap.

"He likes you," Reid said in amazement.

"Cats and I get along," Hotch commented as he began to pull down the supplies he needed.

"He hates Gideon," Reid offered, grinning.

"I know," Hotch grinned back, enjoying how relaxed the young man seemed. "I've witnessed the battles. It was a war of wills last night until Jason finally gave in and let him into your room."

Reid laughed. He'd seen the battles often enough. Who got the couch, was the cat in or out, who got the armchair, etc.

Hotch smiled again, then paused and turned back to the young man. "We've missed you, Reid." He waved Spencer's surprise away. "Oh, I know, you've been present, but you haven't been yourself. We've all been concerned."

Reid felt himself tense, and opened his mouth, but Hotch cut him off. "Hear me out, please."

He leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed, and looking down for a moment, collected his thoughts. Then he sighed. "Back before Gideon left, Strauss was doing her best to break up the team."

Reid nodded his understanding, wondering where this was leading. He felt wired, defensive. But he also knew better than to interrupt Hotch.

"I told her that under no circumstances could she break up this team. I meant that, and I still do. She informed me that I will never rise higher than Unit Chief because of my insistence on this one point. I told her I was fine with that. I still am."

Spencer listened in shock. He knew that Hotch had moved mountains to keep them all together, but he'd never realized just how much he'd sacrificed.

"I've worked with many teams through the years. Excellent professionals, each and every one, and people I still respect. But I have never worked with a team such as this." He looked Spencer in the eye to make sure he understood how important what he was saying was. "We are a family, in more ways than most blood relatives are. We trust each other with our lives, and with our inner most demons. We see things that other people could not take, and we handle it daily, because of our faith in one another. The chemistry between this group of people is special. Not only because each is a master at their job, but because each genuinely cares about the other."

Reid sat frozen, the purring cat on his lap.

"You have no idea just how important you are to this team, Reid. And I don't mean just professionally. Of course that contribution is very important. You're ability to think outside the box, and make connections that no one else sees, and the speed at which you do this is an asset that anybody would value. No, I'm talking about you personally. You are unique. You're young, and you have an amazing interest in everything around you. You bring a freshness to people who are somewhat jaded. You look at everything like it is new. With," and Hotch gave an internal wince. He knew Reid would hate this but it was true, "an innocence that is unique in our field."

He held up his hand to stop Reid's hot reply. "I don't mean naive. I mean a different way of looking at people. You make us smile, and give us a reason for continuing when everything is dark but commenting on something that none of us see. I know you hate it, but it's one reason  
that the team tends to protect you. They want to keep that view of the world in tact."

"What is the one reason that Jason came back? Pure and simple? For you. We tracked him down because you were in trouble. He came back for that single reason. And he's stayed for you. He told me once that he never made the same mistake twice. He won't be leaving again, Reid."

"You will never become like Owen Savage, Reid. Never. Because you have too many people around you who value you for who you are. And who never want you to be somebody else. Or any different than you are."

"Family means caring enough to discipline when you are in the wrong, getting irritated with one another and not being afraid to show it because nobody will be rejected. It means standing together and accepting help when times are tough. Family can do that because they are safe  
with one another. That is why this team is so unique. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Reid slowly nodded.

"Good. Like I said, we've missed you." With that, Hotch could see the wheels turning in Spencer's brain, and turned back to making breakfast and giving him time to mentally digest what he'd just heard. Clearly, Hotch had been heard. For the first time, Hotch truly felt that they might all be just fine.

CM CM CM

By the time Jason returned, Reid had retreated back to bed, sent there by Aaron when he began to fall asleep over the remains of his breakfast.

Hotch was sitting at the table working on a few of the files he'd brought with him. Jason looked at the closed door of the bedroom then at Hotch questioningly as he dropped his keys on the counter.

"Did all your furniture arrive all right?" Hotch asked, purposefully ignoring the unspoken question.

"Movers had it all unloaded into the storage unit in under an hour."

"Good. I'm glad you've decided to settle back here again," Hotch smiled.

Gideon waved the comment aside, and just looked at the younger man.

Hotch smiled. "Reid's fine. He woke up, ate, and then went back to bed. I talked to him a little, and I think I was getting through." Hotch supplied.

"How was he?" Jason detoured for a cup of coffee then slid into a chair opposite.

Hotch thought a moment, gathering his thoughts. "Better, I think. Willing to try to trust a little more. Giving us the benefit of the doubt for the first time. Honestly? I think it's time to show him the tapes of Hal, and the background of the other victims."

"Do you think he's ready for that?" Gideon asked, concerned.

"Yes, I do," Hotch said firmly. "He's always been stronger than people give him credit for."

"I agree completely. But this isn't about strength. He believed Hal. And wouldn't let go of that belief."

"And lost faith in us," Hotch said tiredly, rubbing his face.

Gideon sighed. "Yes. And we gave him reason to doubt us, and Hal spun a wonderfully safe world. But then again, Spencer has never had much self-worth, so it doesn't take much for him to believe he isn't worth the effort."

They were silent a moment. "I told him about Strauss trying to break up the team, and the fact that none of us will rise much further in the FBI because of my instance that we stay together."

"Good," Gideon said firmly, nodding. "He needed to know that, just as he needed to know that we didn't stop looking, even though Hal told him we had."

"I also told him that we were family. And family means disciplining when needed, reprimanding, providing boundaries as well as praise."

"And Spencer has never had that," Gideon said bitterly, "Not with an absent father, a schizophrenic mother, teachers too intimidated by his genius to make the effort, and a mentor who cut and run."

"Until now. You came back for him. Nobody had ever done that," Hotch commented.

Gideon smiled slightly. "Well, he's stuck with me now whether he likes it or not."

"Good." Hotch smiled back. "We might get his maturity level up to his intellect yet." He returned back to the original subject. "I'll have Garcia put together the tapes and information that we have. I'd rather he sees a summary, rather than wade through everything. It's going to be hard enough as it is."

"Thank you. Let me know when it's ready and I'll bring him down."

Gideon picked one of the files off the pile in front of Hotch and cracked it open, and the two men settled back into companionable silence.


	18. Part 3 Battle section 9

A Gossamer Cage

Part 3 – Battle (3.9)

Reid was seated in Garcia's office, quietly looking at the computer screen. Garcia sat nervously next to him, hands at the ready on the keyboard. Hotch was stationed back by the door, arms crossed, face impassive. Gideon stood behind Reid, bending down to talk to him quietly, one hand on his shoulder.

Garcia was uncomfortably reminded of watching Tobias Hankel literally killing Reid on her computer screen with Gideon standing behind her, hand on her shoulder. She repressed a shiver. She did not want to be here, but somebody had to run the program. She had worked long and carefully putting together the various tapes in order to show 'Hal' with his other victims, without traumatizing her young friend too much. She hadn't added any of Reid's own experiences. She figured he knew those too well already. She hoped she did okay. She couldn't hear what Jason was saying, but Reid's white face told its own story.

Hotch caught her eye and nodded. Garcia nodded back, and hit a button to start the program. She knew it so well at this point, she could practically recite the conversations, so instead of watching the screen, she surreptitiously watched Reid.

Reid was passive, watching. But his body language spoke of his tension. His face was absolutely without color. His right arm was wrapped tightly around his body, with his left elbow supported by his right wrist, and he was chewing on the nails of his left hand. His whole body was so tight, he practically radiated tension as he watched.

At one point, Gideon grabbed a nearby chair, turned it around and sat backwards on it, crossed arms leaning on the backrest, so that he was now eye level with Reid. He watched the screen as well, but had his eye on Reid more often, and talked softly to him throughout.

Hotch wasn't any more relaxed than anybody else in the room. He'd moved up closer to Reid for moral support, but he was completely inscrutable; a sign of absolute tension in the man.

Garcia knew when Stanton's section was on just by watching Reid. His face became even whiter as the vicious words Hal used to break him were relayed on the screen. Dr. Stanton's suicide cased a physical flinch, even as hard as Reid was trying to not react. Garcia had argued against putting that scene in, but Hotch had insisted. He'd also insisted that the scene with Young dying over the chemical smoke be shown. His point was that Reid had to know. He'd never believe, or give up a sense that Hal had been right until he saw the carnage the man caused. It was the lesser of two evils. Garcia had argued that both were wrong, just as putting in a picture of the graves being unearthed in the field, but Hotch had implacably pointed out that Reid had to move on from this. It was a sign of her worry for Reid that she had only agreed if Dr. Reynolds had backed Hotch up. He had and she was overruled. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

The entire series of clips had been edited down to 40 minutes. So many lives destroyed over a 10 year period, and she had condensed it into 40 minutes. But it was enough. More than enough. Garcia was glad when it finished, the last picture coming up on the screen.

The raw image of the three unearthed graves so close to the house had Reid swallowing convulsively. He knew that the view of the peaceful, windy field he had so often enjoyed was now forever marred by the reality residing in the lee of the house, right under his window. Garcia touched a button to take down the screen quickly when it was clear they were finished. There was no way she was going to let that sight remain while her young friend was in this room.

"Garcia, would you excuse us please?" Hotch asked quietly.

She nodded silently, and got up, touching Reid's shoulder lightly as she left. He looked up, startled, eyes huge with the shock of what he'd seen. She smiled gently, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and left the room.

As the door closed behind her, she leaned back against it, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"Garcia? Everything okay?" Prentiss' voice asked.

Garcia looked up with a watery smile. "Yes, it was just . . . hard."

"Baby girl, you did good," Morgan said, appearing behind Prentiss and wrapping Garcia in a hug.

"How did Reid take it?" Rossi asked, with JJ right behind him, looking concerned.

"Look, the gangs all here!" Garcia managed, shaky, as she untangled herself from Morgan.

"Where else did you think we'd be?" Rossi asked, smiling.

Garcia wiped her eyes again. "Reid's ok, I think. Gideon and Hotch are still in with him."

"Ok. Let's wait over there," Rossi pointed to some chair in the hallway. "That way we won't overwhelm him when he comes out. We can come on pretty strong."

"Ya think?" Prentiss quipped as they moved away.

"What ever gave you that idea," Morgan snorted, draping an arm over Garcia and leading her over to the chairs to wait for the rest of the team to emerge.

CM CM CM CM CM

When the door shut, closing the three men in privately, the room was silent for awhile. Finally, Reid spoke. "W-why was I different? He . . . he wasn't like this with me." His shaky voice was hardly audible.

"Because you're a profiler. You knew instinctively how to handle him," Hotch responded firmly. "You're good at your job, and you did what you had to in order to stay alive."

Reid turned to look at his boss. "But I didn't know I was doing it."

"No, you didn't. But you knew the character traits, subconsciously recognized them, and responded accordingly."

Reid shook his head. "No. I – I liked it there," he finally admitted painfully.

"Of course you did," Gideon spoke.

Reid looked at him, startled.

"What wasn't to like? He provided everything, specifically tailored to you. He provided time, a comfortable setting, research materials, books, everything. But he did that for the others as well, and they broke anyway. You didn't."

Reid's eyes were impossibly big. "Why?" He asked almost inaudibly.

"Because you're incredibly strong. You knew, deep down, that help was coming," Gideon answered firmly.

Reid started to shake his head, but Gideon spoke over his reaction. "Yes, you did. But it was buried, because that was the only way to survive. You played to Cummings, indulged him, so to speak, became what he wanted. It bought you time."

"I think you're wrong," Reid admitted painfully, but with honest truth.

Jason smiled. "I'm not wrong. Why didn't you tell him about Lila Archer?"

Reid blinked, then colored brilliantly. "I . . . I don't know."

"Because if you had, he would have had you write to her, the same way he made sure you could write your mother, but not in code. You knew that Lila would call us. And she did."

Reid swallowed. "I didn't plan that."

Hotch replied, "Reid, it isn't what we plan, it's what we do instinctually. Everything you did was to buy time until help arrived."

Reid shook his head. "No! I didn't believe you were coming!" He finally admitted in a rush. He was shocked when both Gideon and Hotch chuckled. "You don't get it. I didn't believe you'd come. I thought you moved on!"

Gideon shook his head dismissing the young man's denial with a smile. "Reid, you always believed. Deep down, buried, well out of harms way. Why did you work so hard to stay alive when the power was turned off and food stopped coming? You fought hypothermia with everything you had. If you didn't think anybody was coming, why did you do that?"

Reid blinked, opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Hotch continued, smiling as well. "All the pieces, the things you had Hal bring you from your apartment, all indicated this. You're favorite coffee mug? It was the one Morgan gave you that was bright orange and had FBI all over it. The picture that Lila sent you of the two of you as a thank you, the small train car model Elle had given you after the train hostage situation you were both in. All of the small things that would trigger us to think if we ever had found out. We did, and we were looking, and deep down, you knew it. Remember what I said about family?"

Reid nodded, looking up at him.

"That's what I mean. The connection is deep and it's strong, and it endures even when we think it doesn't. The others didn't have any connections. They had nobody, and they knew it. They weren't even missed. But Cummings had miscalculated with you."

Gideon spoke up. "You have people who care about you. A great deal. And who never stopped looking. And no matter how isolated you felt, how consciously alone you felt, deep down, you knew."

Reid still didn't look completely convinced, but he was getting there, so Hotch pulled out the last stop. "Reid, what was the last case we were working on before Cummings took you?"

Like Morgan had, Reid looked puzzled for a moment, and then resigned. "Owen Savage."

"Right. And what had happened?"

Reid sighed. "You were all furious with me for saving Owen."

Gideon gave a snort of laughter, causing Reid to look at him strangely.

Hotch smiled, and continued. "No, to use Morgan's phrase, 'we were mad because you'd scared the shit out of us'."

Reid looked startled. "But . . ."

"No, we were glad you'd saved Savage, it's always good when the unsub walks away alive. But the way you'd done it, by lying to us, and putting yourself in danger was what caused the anger. I know for a fact that Morgan still has nightmares of seeing you, no gun, no vest, and blocking the kill shot, and finishing with Owen shooting you."

Reid was completely speechless, his mouth open in amazement.

"Worry can look like anger. When you're frightened enough," Hotch finished.

Reid swallowed, and nodded thoughtfully, beginning to relax.

"This is enough for today. Make sure you talk with Dr. Reynolds about this," Hotch instructed.

Reid nodded again, dazed.

"And Reid, talk to any of us as well."

Reid looked up at his boss and nodded again.

Gideon dropped an arm over Reid's shoulders and rose, bring Reid up with him. "Time to go home."

"But work. . ."

"You have the rest of the afternoon off," Hotch said firmly. "And I expect you to go see Dr. Reynolds first thing tomorrow morning. I'll set it up."

Reid nodded, feeling drained.

Hotch opened the door and ushered Reid out, followed by Gideon. They were greeted by the rest of the team.

Reid looked at them, really looked. He could see that they were all trying to look as casual as possible, but now he could see the telltale signs of worry and concern that they were unable to hide. He took in the jovial comments, but also the concern was so evident, even in their effort to give him the space he still needed. He let the conversation and plans swirl around him, and it wasn't until he was on his way out, with Morgan beside him that he realized Hotch and Gideon may actually have been right in everything they'd said. But he was too tired to think about it right now. He just wanted his brain to shut off for awhile.

Morgan tossed his keys up and caught them with an overhand catch right out of the air, and flashed Reid a triumphal grin as they exited the glass doors of the BAU. "Thought we'd never pry Gideon away from you. He'll be tied up with Hotch and Rossi for the rest of the day on that consult Rossi asked him to help on. Good thing I volunteered for chauffeur duty, huh? So, ready to have a break this afternoon?"

As tired and drained as Reid was, he had to admit he was interested, and that surprised him. "What did you have in mind?" He asked suspiciously.

"I thought movies and popcorn at my place. Garcia's going to sneak out and join us," Morgan looked conspiratorially at him, grinning.

"What movies?" Reid asked, doubtfully. With those two, you never knew.

"How about the 'Alien' movies? You can point out all the flaws in the science for us mere mortals."

Reid started to smile in spite of himself. This just might be the way to get what he'd just seen out of his head. And turn his brain off.

"Ha!" Morgan saw the agreement before Reid said a thing. He dialed his phone quickly, and said, "We're on!" Then he laughed and hung up. Turning to Reid, he grinned. "Prentiss is going to dodge out as well. She'll try to bring JJ. Once Hotch, Rossi and Gideon get wrapped up in that file, they won't even notice we're gone."

Reid smiled at the enthusiasm, and thought this might actually be fun.

CM CM CM CM

Hotch, Rossi and Gideon meandered their way up the catwalk, watching covertly as Prentiss edged her way furtively out of the bullpen and hurried towards the elevators.

"Nicely done, agent Gideon," Rossi commented.

"Ex-agent. I'm retired."

"You know, I really need to give Prentiss and Morgan some brush-up training in covert actions," Hotch commented thoughtfully. "They're getting sloppy."

"Maybe," Rossi replied. "But they sure were on the chance pry Reid loose pretty fast."

Gideon smiled. "I just gave them the excuse. They took the initiative."

"This will be good for him. Good for all of them," Hotch added.

"Do you think things will be okay?" Rossi asked quietly. "Get back to normal?"

"In time," Hotch answered, "In time."

"We'll get there." Gideon answered positively.


	19. Epilogue Did you know

Part Five

Did You Know . . .

It was a spring evening a month or so after Reid's viewing of the tapes. He was sitting in the easy chair, one stockinged foot outstretched on the footstool, the other braced against it, knee up, supporting the book who's pages he was turning, reading as he did so.

The weather was unusually mild, and the front door was open, allowing the soft breeze into the apartment. Gideon was at the stove, stirring a simmering sauce on the stove. The soft air, full of the smell of newly mown grass and flowers beginning to blossom, was slowly being overpowered by the smell of cinnamon from the baking rolls in the oven.

Spencer was relaxed. It was such a difference from the files full of brutal crimes that he'd spent the day looking at and he was enjoying it.

"I spent the afternoon at the park yesterday," Gideon offered, seeing Spencer put aside his book and sniff the smells of good cooking appreciatively. "The song birds were beginning to show up. I'm going to have to take my bird book out tomorrow."

Reid got up from the chair, and stretched. "Did you know that the song birds of Virginia . . ."

Gideon gave a small smile, listening with one ear and genuine interest at the stream of facts running through Spencer's mind and out of his mouth. It had taken awhile for Reid to get back to the stage where he was comfortable verbalizing his rambles again.

Hotch had been incredibly relieved when he'd heard the Reid was back to his normal stream-of-consciousness style of conversation with Gideon. He still wasn't there yet with the BAU team, but was getting there. Aaron had told Jason that they were almost back to normal. Reid was still quiet, but was clearly trusting much more and not so defensive. They could tease him gently, and he'd smile, taking it in the spirit offered. But they weren't top profilers for nothing. He was included in all of their plans, whisked along on evening outings for drinks, but not pushed for more than he could give. Hotch confined that when they finally got a rambling 'Do you know . . . ' from him, he would know they were back to normal. And it was close, both older men sensed it. The trust was getting rebuilt, with a much more solid foundation.

A meow at the screen door diverted Reid, and he padded over on his stocking feet to let Cat in, still telling Jason obscure facts about the songbirds. The cat purred around his ankles, tail up as Reid let him in. Spencer smiled and picked him up, laying him across his shoulders in the feline's favorite spot, for all the world like a cat fur collar.

Reid padded into the kitchen, winding up his dissertation on song birds, and leaned over the stove. Both cat and young man sniffed appreciatively.

Jason glared at the cat. "Only Spencer is getting fed from this pan." He pointed his spoon meaningfully at the cat.

For his part, the cat flattened his ears and glared back, then purposefully kneaded Spencer's shoulder and purred loudly.

Reid laughed, filched a lettuce leaf from the cutting board and started munching. "So what did you do today?"

"Wandered around the Smithsonian," Gideon said absently, looking again at his sauce, and deciding it needed some more rosemary.

"Really? Alone?" Spencer was surprised. The older man usually waited until Reid could go with him on outings. "You should have waited until Saturday; I'd have gone with you."

"You weren't invited. I was with a lady friend," Jason said, looking at him with a little smile. He did love this kid.

"Seriously? Who is she?" Reid perked up. This was interesting. A few months prior, he would have felt this as a cause for rejection, but now, secure in his place in Jason's heart, he was fascinated.

Gideon hid a smile. Spencer had always shown a child's open curiosity about such things; it was part of his appeal. How he'd kept that level of innocence with his lack of childhood and what he did for a living was unreal. It was worth protecting. Ignoring his question, knowing it would just inflame Spencer's curiosity, he purposely changed the subject.

"But I'm glad you mentioned Saturday, because I was going to ask you a favor."

Reid sighed, and glared at the older man. He knew he was being redirected. But that was okay. He was a pretty good interrogator now, and he knew when to pick his battles. He'd get what he wanted. But for now, he'd play. "For what?"

"I need you to help me find an apartment."

Spencer's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"I thought you were tired of tripping over me," Gideon said, raising an eyebrow. Hiding a smile, he added, "Besides it difficult to entertain a lady with you around all of the time."

Spencer's interest piqued again. "Who is she?"

"I'm thinking a place within a few blocks of here."

"Is she pretty?"

"Someplace within walking distance so I can come over and cook for you, since you can't seem to manage regular meals on your own."

"Where did you meet her?"

"And someplace near enough that I can come keep your behavior in check as needed."

Spencer stopped mid sentence and glared at him, brilliant color flooding his cheeks as it did any time Gideon came even close to hinting at the method of discipline he'd threatened the young man with.

Gideon smiled slightly and turned back to stirring the sauce, ignoring the reaction. Williams Reid may be Spencer's biological father, but Jason was fine filling in on the actual parenting role. And if he had to use some unusual methods, that was okay, Spencer was an unusual young man. He'd had no childhood to speak of, and was clearly going through some of the teenage rebellion stage, much to Aaron Hotchner's dismay. It would probably grow worse the more confident the young man grew in the unconditional love he felt from those around him. But that was okay as well. Together he and the BAU team would get this kid raised.

Although the bulk fell to him, Jason was content. In the last month, Spencer's peace of mind and his attitude had improved dramatically. A little structure had helped immensely. Gideon had only had to apply a quick, hard, hand to backside once more, and that more as a warning more than anything; Spencer was a quick learner. If the discipline was of a childish nature, then so was some of Spencer's behavior. But they were getting there, and Jason was in for the long haul. And for the first time in his life, it was clear that Spencer truly convinced of that. Jason was looking forward to watching him blossom.

Smiling, he stirred his sauce, feeling that the future looked bright. 


End file.
